


nobody left but us

by capsize (copenhagenborn)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically an Avs story told in Leafs settings, Developing Friendships, Friends to Lovers, General feelings of melancoly and bitterness, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Trade, dumb boys being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:31:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copenhagenborn/pseuds/capsize
Summary: Tyson is traded to the Toronto Maple Leafs in July, and it's fine, really.It's not like his life is falling apart or anything.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tyson Barrie & Alexander Kerfoot, Tyson Barrie/Gabriel Landeskog
Comments: 14
Kudos: 172





	nobody left but us

**Author's Note:**

> being traded together and in love with your former teammates is something that can actually be so personal. 
> 
> as usual, if you know anyone in the tags, please consider doing something other than reading this fic, thank you! 
> 
> this has been underway since October and has just been kicking my ass ever since. so some of it has been written in real time, but a lot of it was planned out before so feel free to consider this an AU with some bits aligning with canon. 
> 
> also, as this covers the Leafs 19-20 season, the Matthews incident is discussed by Tyson and other players. as this is a fictional work only based on real people and events, Tyson's opinion of Matthews is affected negatively. This is in no way any reflection of tyson's real opinions but do beware that Matthews isn't the best guy in this. So if the incident is triggering for you, or if you're just Matthew's biggest fan, this might not be the fic for you.

July comes quick and with it, free agency and the start of trade season.

Tyson’s never really been interested in other people’s misery when it comes to trades, choosing to hear it from friends instead when they decide to bore him with the details of Ottawa’s latest acquire. So when someone interrupts his conversation during a party to shove a phone in his face and announce his trade before his agent can get a hold of him, Tyson isn’t all that surprised.

Craig does eventually reach him after the party has died down a bit and Tyson is curled up on the couch with a glass of wine in hand and Ralph in his lap. “Toronto, eh? That’s gonna be a blast.” Tyson says drily and downs his glass in favour of the chocolates someone had come by with.

“Could be,” Craig says even-keel as ever, “Could be a great season for you too, and in a contract year at that. The Leafs’ D is weak on the right side, and with Colorado going young, this might be just the change we wanted for you.”

“Did dad talk to you?” Tyson snorts, but shakes his head. “Never mind, actually. Tell them I’ll be around come late August, and if they need me before that then send me a text or something. I’m still on off-season time, so be considerate with your calls.”

“Sure Tys, I’ll just let you get all of your news through social media.” Craig responds wryly, “I know that’s how you kids like it these days. Check your email in a few, the Leafs might send you a contract offer. Also, expect a call from Sakic. He seemed sad to let you go, so you know, don’t bite his head off, yeah?”

Tyson makes no promises.

Joe does call later in the evening, nearing the time Tyson probably should have gone to bed but refuses to outside of the season. It’s not quite the heart to heart Tyson had hoped for, regrets about trading him away this close to them becoming a contender and the long-awaited apology about salary arbitration that still makes his heart beat a bit faster than usual.

Instead, he very calmly explains where the Avs are going as a team, how the year is going to shape out, and what he is going to do to make that happen. “And I’m sorry, but you’re not a part of that plan, Tyson. You’re a great player, and we’ve really enjoyed seeing you advancing these past years. But some things need to change if we want to make that final push, and right now our focus has to be on making the offense better, and that means letting some of you go.”

It doesn’t leave him feeling great, but then Joe never seemed very focused on that. At least he has the courtesy to send one of the rookies along with him, so he won’t feel entirely alone come September – that it’s his third favourite and therefore least favourite, Kerf doesn’t have to know.

Well, not until he starts acting like a little shit again, then Tyson might have to let him in in the deeds.

At the end of it all, Toronto isn’t the worst city to go to – heck, Colorado was a shitty place to live most times of the year, but he had made it work – Tyson is a good Canadian boy, even if he is Victorian born and bred and still shivers at the thought of snow, but.

They’ve all heard the horror stories about the media and the attention the team gets, the pressure on the guys after they started to show just a speckle of hope that they might actually be good again, the salary disputes and guys sitting out, which? Tyson had kind of done that when Sakic didn’t want to pay up three years ago – lot of people did that, but because it was Toronto suddenly everyone has to get involved.

It’s still early, so Tyson doesn’t make any effort to reach out to the team. He might be a people person, but that doesn’t quite extend to guys he hasn’t met yet, nevertheless a team full of them that expects him to actually turn shit around on the ice.

And then Kadri needs a place to live back in Denver, what with being an actual adult who has a wife and a, cat? Fuck if Tyson knows. Or at least that’s what he’s told by the group chat he still hasn’t had the balls to leave for the sake of drawing out the pain. Also, Nate told him he had until September to sort out his shit, and then someone will make a new chat that didn’t include him.

So Tyson does a thing and tries not to soak too much in the text Gabe sends telling him what a smart thing he did, swapping houses with Naz.

Jokes on him, Toronto property is way more expensive than his shitty two-story house that he only bought because it was close to Nate’s. “It’s an investment, dude.” He had told Tyson earnestly, only slightly undermining himself by the wild gestures of his ice cream spoon. “Real estate is fucking booming right now, and this is a great neighbourhood.”

“Yeah?” Tyson had replied, not entirely convinced but none the less intrigued by Nate’s recent obsession with money ventures. “Tell your guy I’m in, might as well start acting like an adult, eh?”

But Tyson doesn’t make a business out of judging other people’s decisions, at least not when he can’t be there in person, so he’ll take it and agrees to meet Mitch for the key swap.

It’s a bit weird for the only guy he kind of knows on the team isn’t really a part of it right now. But Mitch seems to be in good spirits, taking everything in a stride and talking a mile a minute in a way that makes Tyson wonder if his own idle chatter sounds just as annoying and insecure.

“But I’ll be back for training camp, no worries.” He catches at the end.

Tyson hums, “Oh yeah? I heard you were going to Switzerland for the season.” He doesn’t mean anything by it, at least not entirely. He knows it’s a popular threat with the agents, young players taking their talents overseas in an ‘I’ll show them’ sort of way, ‘I don’t need your team, I’ll be fine with a bunch of middle-aged men whose brightest moments come every fourth year’.

“Who knows at this point?” Mitch laughs in a way that sounds just a tad hollow and takes a big sip of his beer. “But Darren seems to think it’s a good idea. And I mean, if Ky – if the team doesn’t want me, I still have to play, you know? Of course, I want to be here, but like. It would be nice to be wanted back, yeah?”

The Lions probably wants him, real bad – for less money than the Leafs would even think to give him – and in the end, that might be what matters the most.

It makes him think of Mikko and the conversations they’d had before the playoffs. Mikko listing offers his agent had gotten from Sakic, and Gabe and Nate loudly disagreeing with all of them.

“I know you want to be here, bud. But you also have to get a number that’s fair to what you bring.” Gabe tells him firmly in a room that makes no room for arguments.

They’re in Gabe’s living room on a warm March night back when everything was still fine, and they were almost in a playoff spot. It’s just the five of them spread out on the couches, a few beers scattered about and Zoey resting warmly on his feet.

“Nate did it, he took a team-friendly deal.” Mikko grumbles but yields easily when Gabe pulls him back against his chest, slumping down until he can fit under Gabe’s arm with ease.

“Yeah, but Nate’s a dumbass who still goes to the church of Crosby and doesn’t know what being a superstar entail.” Tyson says in a wry voice, rolling his eyes as Nate splutters indignantly by his side.

“You need more than six, Meeks. More if they want you on a longer deal.” Nate adds with a glare at Tyson and kicks at his legs none too gently. Zoey doesn’t seem to appreciate it too much and leaves their end to join EJ in the chair, closing her eyes with a huff to the room at large. “They have plenty of money, and you know, the only one you have to worry about is this guy here, and he’s not leaving until they kick him out.”

Gabe doesn’t even pretend to look insulted, “I mean someone has to make sure you don’t kill each other, or you know, infect the entire team with whatever funky STI you find on road trips.”

“So what should I do?” Mikko relents, his voice sounding already exhausted with the prospect of not just coming back to the team when the summer is over.

“Well, first we’ll see how far the playoffs will take us, because that can impact your number too,” Gabe reasons calmly, one hair stroking through Mikko’s pale strands of hair, while the other grips Nate’s thigh where it starts to twitch – despite how normal and not Crosby-like he claims to be about superstitions, he’s still very iffy about discussing the playoffs like a foregone conclusion.

“And then if it’s not settled by August, then you can reach out to one of the teams back in Finland, schedule a couple of practices with them to make sure you’re not too rusty when you get back to us.” He continues in the same soft voice that seems to work wonders at calming him down.

“Laine will probably be around if you’re down for that,” Tyson chimes in and stretches out to trap Nate’s leg underneath his, tapping his foot against Gabe’s stomach when he tenses.

“Tyson!”

“What? I’m not saying it’s what they should do, but that’s what is going to happen.” He says with a shrug and jostles Nate until he lets go of his leg.

They really should listen to him more, he’s the only one who’s been a part of actual salary arbitration, whose father did this for a living – ish, at least. Superstars don’t know shit about contract negotiations other than ending up on the upper side of the agreeable salary. “They’re gonna spend a few months arguing what the contract should look like, and then they’ll waste training camp if not a game or two before settling on a bridge deal.”

“Alright, mister Armchair GM over there,” EJ says with a roll of his eyes, “Daddy left you with more than a couple of dollars, eh?”

Tyson snorts but doesn’t take the chirp, “Just making sure my fall back’s in place when you guys make me bust my knee covering up your mistakes on the ice.”

“Now that’s a fucking lie,” Nate says drily and pushes him off the couch, “I know you’re gay and all, but there’s one d you don’t like, and that’s the one in defence.”

. . .

September comes slow and with training camp right around the corner, Tyson deems it time to make his way to Toronto.

Kadri’s apartment is bigger than he had expected, spacious and well designed with more rooms than he and Ralph are going to need. But the view is nice, the arena is only a short drive away, and with whatever bullshit rent agreement they had settled on – some shit Nate had insisted on supervising and actually draw up a real contract, as if Tyson wasn’t just going to sign whatever they put in front of him – Tyson pays close to nothing to live here.

There are a few pieces of furniture left, something practical and impersonal that the Kadri’s didn’t mind parting with and didn’t need to bring to Colorado, but at least it gives him a starting point of how to fill up the place. His last house had been a mismatch of colours and fabrics, whatever had seemed nice when he found it, carefully curated and arranged by his mom or Gabe’s sharp eyes when he wouldn’t stop huffing and puffing about the offsetting pairs of Tyson’s dining room chairs.

“I know you don’t actually use the spot,” Gabe had said one night, staring himself tired at the table instead of joining the rest of the team in the living room for drinks, “But you literally went out of your way to find chairs that didn’t match instead of just buying the pre-packaged four they offered with the table.”

Tyson had exhaled deeply, “It’s called character, Landesnerd.” He said before bullying him out of the room and towards the kitchen instead, “I know pretty guys like you probably haven’t heard of the concept, but some people actually like their house to have a bit of personality instead of just streamlined patterns and a splash of colour here and there.”

Gabe had smiled, his chest puffed out. “I know you’re trying to insult me, but you also just call me pretty, so.”

“Which is so not the point!” Tyson had yelled back, but Gabe was already turning around, strutting away confidently with a beer in his hand. “You’re not even that pretty!”

Tyson asks around for furniture stores in the Leafs chat he had tentatively joined per Mitch’s request, because as independent and self-providing as he claims to be, Tyson can not for the life of him navigate a city he’s been in less than a month. But after being delegated to the passenger seat more than enough to count as coincidence, Tyson has become sick with a GPS – and an AUX cord, but that’s more of an inherent skill than practice.

But instead of answering him truthfully that they’re all literal _children_ who either had their mom or paid for their places to be decorated, he gets a few vague suggestions of stores to stop by and a resounding, “There’s so many great places, you just gotta get out there and explore.” 

Tyson decides to leave them on read in the belief that Pavlov’s theory would stand the test of time.

Luckily, Morgan seems to get that he isn’t looking for a place to discover his own style, but just somewhere he can find solid furniture to make his place feel a little less empty until he figures his shit out. Morgan makes quick work of his list of intended purchases, driving them to just two stores before Tyson is done for the day, partially satisfied and entirely drained.

“You know, I think I prefer IKEA to this driving around places,” Tyson whines when they finish carrying up an end table that didn’t fit with the delivery service’s car. “At least they have a designated area for food when you’re finished with all the shitty work.”

“Been there a lot, have you?” Morgan asks drily as he sits down on the couch Tyson had managed to get delivered a few days ago, “A meal and an experience, that does sound like quite the store.”

There’s a beat where he almost expects him to add something to it, to make the chirp meaner or for someone else to jump out and tell them to shut up if they didn’t want to fund the winning beers for the rest of the year. But Morgan keeps looking at him steadily, only moving to take off his shoes and curl up in one of the ends of the couch.

“Yeah, ah.” Tyson starts, clearing his throat before he gets up to fill Ralph’s bowls. “Gabe – uh, Landeskog liked the place, being Swedish and all. And we got a lot of rookies that needed furniture, so what’s better than making them build it themselves?”

Cale had actually been halfway decent at it during his rushed mid-playoff round team initiation of assembling a bookcase none of them had any use for. Opposed to JT and Josty who despite being initiated on two separate days, had both lost their bags of screws and instead tried to improvise by gluing the pieces together in such an absurdly similar way that had made JT choke on his beer watching Junior go about it. Kerf had been boring, refusing to drink anything beforehand and actually read over the instruction manual before touching any of the tools – once again proving Tyson right in his rookie ranking.

Morgan hums softly and accepts the beer Tyson offers, “Yeah, I’m not sure that would’ve worked with Mitchy and Matty, they shouldn’t be around anything pointed, so power tools are a hard no.”

Tyson shrugs, “Sometimes the only way to learn is by doing.”

It’s not meant as anything other than an offhand comment. But maybe his voice is too pointed, because suddenly Morgan is looking at him with sharp eyes and a body that is coiled for something entirely different than hanging out on someone’s couch. So Tyson holds up his hands placatingly and smiles, “Calm down, Mama bear. I’m not trying to hurt your cubs, ‘twas but a thought.”

Morgan shoots him a look but turns back to Ralph who’s been begging to get onto the couch since he noticed they were back. “Willy might be okay at it though, you know, being Swedish and all.”

Tyson takes it for what it is and laughs, “I can probably find him something around here to build, see how good he is.”

. . .

Newfoundland is a strange, strange place.

Tyson almost misses the Avalanche and their over-productive social media team who got a kick out of him being embarrassing on camera when they bring out the fish for him to kiss.

There’s a split second, moments before he’s handed the fish, where he wonders what it would cost him not to do this, to tell the PR lady – who’s been great, if not a bit too on point with things – that he isn’t going to make out with something dead just because of the location of their affiliated ECHL team.

But then the fish is in his hand, and Tyson decides he probably isn’t rich enough for whatever the Leafs would want in compensation to leave him fish-breath free.

It’s a bit weird he’s the one included on the media team, what with him being new and not haven’t played a game for the team yet. But with Tavares home with his kid, and Mitch either on his way or flying in soonish, Tyson’s apparently the best they have.

The dynamic between the four of them seems to be a bit weird, pre-established and rigid in a way that makes Tyson believe he’s sliding into a spot someone before him used to hold. He hasn’t been in Toronto very long and knows very little about the team structure, but Morgan seems to be the pseudo leader until the inevitable crowning of the next captains happens.

Freddie seems fine if not a bit quiet. But as far as Tyson knows that is fairly normal when it comes to the older European guys, too used to the generalised North American experience that they either quiet down or won’t shut up to compensate for it.

Auston though, Tyson doesn’t know a lot about.

They’ve met a few times whenever the team got together, and Tyson actually felt up for making an effort to socialise. He knows that he tends to skew older when it comes to friends, except Mitch who he seems to be physically attached to unless they’re on the ice. But more importantly, through the few practices Tyson has attended, it is very clear that the team expects him to start the season with the C on his shirt, looking to him for opinions and confirmations whenever there’s a team decision up in the air.

It seems to transfer well enough to their small group of three. But where the leadership group back on the Avs always had been open and eager to include anyone who felt a bit wandering, Tyson feels like there is a very clear distinction between them and the rest of the team.

Tyson knows most of the younger guys came up with each other from the American league, players from the system that have been around each other for years before being called up. So it doesn’t seem to bother most of them, easily falling into old patterns with new surroundings despite the added pressure of their new situation.

But he notices that some of the newer guys seem to struggle a bit with finding their places on the new team without the guidance from someone who’s been on the team before, Kerf who looks downright lost when Tyson is pulled away for media stuff that first time.

The Leafs are off to an okay-ish start to the pre-season.

They drop two games against Ottawa before trading blows with the Sabres, and then they’re off for their second game against the Habs which, if Tyson knows even the slightest bit of Eastside hockey history, is sure to be an absolute bloodbath.

They’re not quite playing as well as people want them to, don’t quite fulfil whatever potential the team had on paper with the off-season Kyle had managed to have. Mitch isn’t producing enough for what they paid him, Hyman, who Tyson still hasn’t met, is still out and doesn’t look to be coming back for at least another month, and Nylander is still taking the blame for sitting out a couple of months last year, carrying the hatred of an entire nation.

But the team seems to be in good spirits outside of the rink judging by the amount of ‘chel and Fortnite party invitations he’s suddenly getting. He’s not much of a gamer himself, but Tyson has sent a long time perfecting the art of making fun of people while eating their food and getting drunk.

It’s not quite the cosy mood and affectionate touches that had dominated the Avs’ get-togethers, fine wine and whatever healthy dish Gabe and Colin could agree on that always seemed to serve just as the starter before someone ordered takeout when the drinks set in. Instead, it skews a bit more boyish with a hint of ‘no-homo’ when they have to squeeze onto the same couch for a game. But Tyson has worked with less before, and ignorance in young people can often be worked on.

And then the charges against Auston blows up on twitter.

Tyson doesn’t find it himself but instead wakes up to a series of texts all containing the same shitty screenshot of the headline with varying degrees of outrage. Gabe seems to be all in on it too, having sent him a long string of texts apparently looking for context to it all.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to reply, doesn’t know if Gabe wants the truth or something more condemning from him, so he doesn’t respond and instead venmos Nate enough money to buy them both a cup of coffee before morning skate.

There’s a part of Tyson that absolutely hates that the thing he’s most surprised about is that he learns about it from twitter, from an upset fan who went digging and stumbled upon this shitshow before the Leafs had a chance to cover it up.

The thing is, Tyson’s been on shitty team with shittier guys before, mean who he felt sick playing with but wasn’t important enough to do anything about. Guys the team felt the need to inform them about beforehand, so they would know the extent of their ‘alleged’ crimes before making a decision of how they should be approached. As if to say, “We know they’re bad and probably shouldn’t be allowed to play, but we’re a hockey team trying to win games to make a profit, so we don’t really care that much.” Because if anything, hockey is the abuser’s sport and things like this didn’t just leak.

So even if Matthews wasn’t as young and immature that hanging around an older crowd sometimes made him feel, ignorant and downright disrespectful as this incident made him seem; the fact that he so obviously kept this from Dubas and management made him unbelievably stupid in Tyson’s eyes.

The Leafs are still in Toronto and despite the news, they still have a game later and therefore morning skate to attend before they pack up and head to Montreal. So Tyson rolls out of bed, goes on a quick walk with Ralph before picking up Kerf who looks just as shocked as him when he hands over his phone.

“And it’s not one of those scheming sites that’s been popping up lately?” Kerf says with a frown, but even he looks resigned as if he already knows the answer, “Like that shit with Gretzky and the ED pills?”

Tyson huffs but decides now isn’t quite the time to discuss the possibility of the Great One’s sex life being made public domain. Instead, he makes a sharp turn and pulls through the parking garage with a quick smile to the guard. “Gabe seemed to think it was pretty legit, and apparently they have the official police report or something. So uh, I think the odds of this disappearing quietly is like, very out there.”

“That’s fucked up man. You think he’s going to be at practice?”

Tyson doesn’t even know how to reply to that. Usually, there’s a certain way to these things, as bitterly as it sounds, a controlled way for someone to be reintroduced to the team and the public with pre-rehearsed answers that showed a firm but united front. But he had heard the titbits of Dubas’ interview, of how he knew nothing more than Tyson and seemed dismissive if not entirely pissed off at not being informed about the matter beforehand.

“Only one way to find out, eh?” He laughs darkly and gets out of the car.

Tyson doesn’t know what he expects, but the news doesn’t seem to have changed anything in the room. The team moves on like nothing’s happened, and when Auston comes out with his weak-assed apology, Morgan and JT are quick to step in and show their support.

Tyson thanks whatever gods are still listening to his rambles that he wasn’t the one asked about the situation and lets himself get swept up in the familiar rhythm of hockey.

It works until it doesn’t.

The Leafs shut out Detroit at home, and suddenly everyone is ready for the regular season, confidence high and attitude strong. They end up at a local bar that tries not to bother them too much when they come around, or so he’s told by Mitch who’s been talking a mile a minute since they left the restaurant, buzzing between groups like he can’t quite be still not that he’s finally back.

“It sucks with Matty, huh?” Mitch says as he comes back with their drinks and an assortment of snacks he must have charmed his way to because Tyson couldn’t find anything remotely edible on the menu when he had looked.

They’re all a few beers in and with no games the next couple of days, Tyson has allowed himself to indulge a bit. Despite what the Avs might tell you, Tyson is not a lightweight – he is, however, five foot something with proportionate liver cells and a tendency to get lazy after two drinks. So it does take him a second or two of random blinking before he refocuses on Mitch’s face with a quick, “Sorry, what was that?”

Mitch seems to frown, but his face is turned towards his phone and Tyson doesn’t care enough to get his glasses out to be sure. “Auston? And the captaincy thing?”

Tyson exhales deeply ad leans back as far as he can in a shitty barstool.

“I mean,” he starts before taking a long sip of his drink, already dreading this conversation. Because if anyone, Mitch has been a big proponent of Auston through these times. Not necessarily because he thought Auston hadn’t done anything wrong, but more like he didn’t really care about the crime when it was his friend on the stand. “It’s a shitty thing to do –“

“I know! I heard they’re gonna give it to Johnny now.” Mitch splutters and almost knocks his glass over in his eagerness to reply. He twists around in his chair, checking perhaps if Tavares is anywhere near them before he continues, “I mean that’s fine and all, but he’s not really a part of the change, you know? We were already good when he got here, and the captaincy should symbolise that with the new era, the new _team_.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on.” Tyson says, his head cocked and working a mile a minute to keep up with what Mitch is trying to say, swerving right past how bratty and entitled young guys can sound with the slightest bit of talent under their belt, and arriving at, “Are you saying Auston should still get the C?”

Mitch blinks slowly before meeting Tyson’s eyes, but he can’t hold it for long before looking away with a shrug, “I mean, it’s Matty, you know? He’s still the best player that we have, he’s still the one we listen to in the room. I get that he fucked up, but they could have waited unit it blew over and then given it to him, you know?”

It makes him sound impossibly young the way he says it, nervous but standoffish in the way Tyson remembers being when talking to men who were prone to just brushing off whatever he said because of his age. But it’s also _what_ he says, the naivety of his words and slight confusion about the entre situation.

“Mitch, do you know what he did?”

He doesn’t seem nearly as confident as he usually is, fingers fidgeting with the beer label on his bottle and he’s still refusing to meet Tyson’s gaze as he looks around the bar with flickering eyes, “He hasn’t told me if that’s what you’re asking.” Mitch admits quietly, his mouth twisted just enough to think Mitch sees it as a slight against himself, “But I’ve read the articles, I mean everyone has.”

Tyson nods once, “So you don’t think he did anything that should strip him of the C?”

Mitch exhales in slow puffs and then seems to change his mind when he downs the rest of his bottle. “Like I get that it wasn’t cool what he did. But like, he was drinking, and you know Matty. It’s just things that might happen when you’re out!”

Tyson holds back a scoff and instead clears his throat, “Mitch, have you ever broken into someone’s car?”

“What? No, of course –“

“What about at night? No one’s around, so you might as well have some fun.”

“Mitch coughs, “No, I wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t seem –“

“What if there was someone in it? And they’re not really paying attention to you, so you can really surprise them if you try hard enough.” Mitch sighs but he doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “You still think that what he did was okay? Even if you know that all these things are wrong, and you wouldn’t do it yourself?”

“No, but that’s not. They were drunk.” He insists again, just a bit too aggressive for the casual conversation this is supposed to be. “He wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t drunk, he’s not that kind of guy.” His voice is a bit too loud, just a pitch higher than whatever outdated rock songs the bar is playing. But Tyson doesn’t let it show, just nods neutrally and lets them sit for a beat.

“Look, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy.” Tyson reasons when Mitch seems to have calmed down enough that he only physical sign of his frustration is the colour of his cheeks. Mitch’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t interrupt, so Tyson continues, “But he did do a shitty thing that someone your age should know is horribly wrong, and instead of doing the right thing, which would have been to apologise profusely to the lady before at least information the team, he fucking called his dad and acted like a spoiled brat.

“I don’t care that he’s only 22 – hell, the best captain I had was 19 when he got the C. But if you’re acting like a child off the ice, how can you expect someone like Kyle to out his trust in you? Or the team to let you speak for them?”

There’s a moment where it actually seems like Mitch might understand where he’s coming from, brows pinched and biting his lips with a ferociousness that’s only brought on by inner conflict. And then he inhales sharply, and Tyson knows already before he hears the glass being put down on the counter what is about to happen.

“What are you two talking about? I didn’t quite catch it?” Auston says neutrally as he sits down on the chair next to Tyson, but his smile seems tight and even Morgan standing behind him seems apologetic.

Tyson rolls his eyes and spot Freddie still sitting in his spot at the end of the bar, probably plotting the entire team’s demise when he gets around to have the spare time.

“I’ll speak up next time then,” Tyson says cheerfully, “Or I mean, we could also just stop breaking into people’s cars and violating their privacy, either or, I don’t really care. Look at the time, I think I’m gonna call it a night, see ya later boys!”

He gets up from his chair, gives their shoulders a friendly tap and throws a couple of bills on the bar to cover his drink before leaving the bar at a brisk place.

Someone bumps into his side and Kerf falls into step with him making Tyson exhale deeply. “Don’t tell the guys I’m becoming the next Dutchy. I’ll never hear the end of it if EJ finds out.”

Kerf snorts, “It was a fair point though, you could have been a bit less obvious it about it, but overall I would give it an A- performance.”

Tyson chuckles and wraps his arms around Kerf’s shoulder, “We’re a long way from Denver, eh Dorothy?”

. . .

The Leafs start the season at home and with little surprise to anyone, John is officially made captain of the team.

The ceremony before the game is a bit subdued, speeches edited just a bit too much to cover up the fact that he obviously wasn’t the first choice for the job. But Johnny is nothing if not a professional and with the crowd rallying behind him, it’s enough for them to pull out the home win.

Tyson hasn’t had a lot of captains throughout his playing career. He knows there was one in Kelowna before he got the C but can’t quite put a name to him; and then Gabe when he was called up from the A to play on the Avs – which makes it two, excluding himself.

JT isn’t Gabe, Tyson doesn’t think anyone will ever come close to Gabe’s type of captaining – ridiculously stupid ideas mixed with an obnoxious dash of mother-henning at all the wrong times – but there’s a blandness to him that seems sounds, safe at least from the management’s side.

He’s not a very vocal captain either. There’s the obligatory encouraging speech before games and a callout on the bench when whatever Babs says doesn’t seem to get through. But other than that, the room is very self-governed. It works well with the Leafs’ almost island-like groups with only a few of the guys drifting between them.

He doesn’t know if it would have worked on other teams – definitely not the Avs with their almost crippling co-dependency – but the Leafs with their lack of a captain for the past years, seems undisturbed with the sudden appearance of a figurehead.

Matthews is still given an A and without and official reprimand, the Leafs go back to seeing him as the greatest guy ever. There’s a part of him that thinks they never really stopped, that even the best of them still fall victim to hockey blinders and the general disregard for anything that doesn’t make a difference once they’re on the ice.

It doesn’t change anything about their play though, because despite what might have been said about the team on paper before the season started, and how wonderful the media had made them sound after Mitch’s contract was finally in place, they aren’t off to a very hot start.

And then fucking Tampa comes to town.

It might not have been great hockey they’ve been playing, but at least the games have been tight, decided by a goal or two that could have gone their way if a butterfly hadn’t fluttered its wings.

Thunder bugs though, don’t flutter as much as they just stomp all over the Leafs’ defence and leaves them with a humiliating 3-7 loss in their own barn.

Washington leaves them with an injured captain, and suddenly the championship team anticipated to bring home the cup looks more like a band of beer league guys who can’t put the puck in the back of the net if it was void a goaltender.

Tyson notices that especially Kerfs struggles.

With the staff, the team and the media who can’t figure out what to call him – neither party confident enough to just speak out and make a choice. Tyson tries to make it a point to call him either Kerf or Alexander, and never Alex whenever anyone is near, but apparently, Toronto is the place where names go to die if there is just the slight chance of discussion.

It makes him realise just how young Kerf actually is, how old he had seemed when he hung around Junior and JT – who had the personality of dry paint and the intelligence to match. The Avs had been a young team – even younger now with Tyson gone and more of the young guys taking up important positions – so anyone with a bit of seniority or brains had seemed mature. But no degree, education or tight-knit friendship can prepare you for having to leave everything behind and be expected to still perform at your best.

Kerf is a particular sort of guy. Not in a bad way – though Tyson will take that to his grave – but you have to get used to the way he is and know he doesn’t take himself as seriously as he might come off.

Last year, they had had a lot of college guys, if not full degrees then at least with a semester or two complete before being called up to the NHL. It hadn’t made them any smarter than a team full of juniors guy – the Avs would have proudly taken the league’s fewest brain cells if someone had offered them the award – but it might have made them a bit more comfortable with Kerf’s sophisticated vocabulary and his need to be right about stuff hockey players usually didn’t care about.

The Leafs don’t seem to mind too much, but they already have a designated smart guy, despite how little Tyson has seen of him. And true to kindergarten rules, it really only makes it awkward to have two people playing the same role.

But it’s not until after one of their western road-trips ending in a string of losses that Tyson realises how little Kerf has actually integrated into the city that is going to be his home for the next couple of years.

With all the injuries and losses piling up, the team seems to be lingering around after getting off the plane, sad and tired and downright frustrated with the luck they’ve been having lately.

Some of the guys have partners picking them up, dark cars waiting in the shadows for when they’re ready to leave and go back home to sulk. The rest seem to scatter about in small groups, getting Lyfts or that friend of a friend they’ve managed to get out of bed at shit o’clock because who wouldn’t for a Toronto Maple Leaf?

Tyson doesn’t have anyone waiting for him at home. Ralph is still at the sitter and won’t be back until he goes to pick him up in the morning, so he has the time to make the rounds with whatever ragtag guys are left standing on the tarmac with their heads down.

It used to be Gabe’s job to make sure everyone was okay, checking in that the loss wasn’t hard, that they didn’t blame themselves too badly. And then Tyson would come in, crack a bad joke or two and pull Gabe away right before it got too sappy and did more damaged than good.

But Gabe isn’t in Toronto, and it doesn’t seem like John’s thing to stick around when he has a baby at home. Tyson though has never been great at emotions that weren’t his own or couldn’t be solved by a heavy drink and ice cream.

So when Kerf’s been sitting on the same bench for ten minutes without making a sound or looking at his phone, Tyson decides it’s time to move things along.

“Hey bud. When’s your car getting here?” Tyson asks neutrally and leans against the wall next to the bench. “I’m sure one of the guys have room for you if you’re in a hurry, otherwise I’m just ordering a Lyft right now.”

Kerf leans back on the bench, watching him with dark eyes. “I’m good, Tys. I just need some time, and then I’ll be on my way.” He exhales deeply and kicks his feet until he’s almost completely sprawled out. “You don’t have to wait around, you know.”

There’s a beat where Kerf looks like he’s almost expecting Tyson to turn around and leave now that he’s comforted that Kerf isn’t being pathetic alone on a bench. He holds back the rolls of his eyes and shrugs, “I mean, it’s not like we have practice in the morning or anything. Whatever would I be up to at half-past three in the morning, Alexander?”

“I did say you should just leave.” He shoots back, eyes narrowed just a bit.

“And when someone has to call your mom to tell her about the frostbite you got sitting out here the entire night, tell the tea- well.” Tyson says with a wry smile, shaking his head. “Just tell me what’s wrong so I can tell you how dumb you’re being.”

“Do you have to be shitty to me all the time?” Kerf asks with a hiss, but even his voice sounds soft, on the border of defeated. Tyson shrugs because it doesn’t seem like he actually wants the answer.

“My place is –“ He starts after a while, pauses and seems to change his mind with a frown. “The place I am renting is kicking me out, and I have like a week to find a new place.”

“That sounds unreasonable.” Tyson chimes in as he sits down on the bench beside him. And very unlike Kerf not to have a contract that would make this thing impossible.

He remembers him coming to the Avs and kindly declining Gabe’s offer of staying with him to get settled, because wouldn’t you know it, Kerf had already bought a house with enough room to fit him and a couple of the other guys.

“Yeah, I know right? The contract was shitty to read, we’re not exactly lawyers you know. But with so little time, I just –“ Kerf sighs and suddenly all of the energy just goes out of him and he slumps onto Tyson’s shoulder. “It’s a hotel. I’m living in a hotel paying rent week to week, and next week they’ve decided to start renovating which means I can’t stay there anymore.”

Tyson holds back the reflex of shrugging him off and instead forces himself to relax so Kerf’s position isn’t so awkward. “Didn’t management offer to help you find something?”

He had been planning to let them do the leg work if the Kadri thing hadn’t worked out, but then Tyson never enjoyed doing stuff like looking at houses or doing his taxes – people other than him obviously excelled at it, so why should he bother?

Kerf though had made it seem like he enjoyed being the homemaker, taking care of JT and Josty and giving them a home to live in rather than whatever shit Mikko called a house now that he had moved out of Gabe’s.

Kerf laughs but it sounds slightly strangled. “They did. But they also thought I should move in with one of the guys instead of getting him own place. To promote team chemistry or whatever bullshit they try to get away with.” He rolls his eyes and scoots down further until he’s tucked under Tyson’s arm with his head in his neck.

It feels weird doing this with Kerf who only seemed to accept touches if you were one of two very specific people, or they were on the ice and someone just scored a goal with the safety of at least two layers of pads between them. But Tyson realises, as something nice and warm spreads through his body, nobody has really touched Tyson either since he came to Toronto.

“Are you telling me they couldn’t come up with alternative suggestions for you?”

Kerfs bobs his head, “I mean, they did but everything they gave me was expensive, and there were a lot of things to consider –“ Tyson lets him keep rambling for another minute or so before he stares him quiet. And then he starts back up, this time in a much slower voice, soft and just the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It feels too permanent getting my own place. Like, this is it. This is gonna be my life from now on, and the rest is just, behind me – a closed chapter of the past. And, I don’t think I am ready to say goodbye to them – to that yet.”

Tyson choke, Kerf’s words hitting a bit too close to home.

“That’s, yeah okay.” He says with a slow exhale. He pulls Kerf closer and rests his head on top of his. They’re pretty much the same size, but somehow they make it work, cuddled together on a shitty bench somewhere on the outskirts of Toronto.

So, if it’s okay with you, I just want to sit here a little longer and pretend I still have a house to go home to.” Kerf adds softly, and Tyson can’t do anything but nod.

. . .

Kerf settles a bit more into the team after Tyson’s careful coaxing.

He still takes a few too many penalties and shots the puck wide when they could be a goal up, but some of that is deployment and not even Kerf getting his confidence back can change that. But he’s doing better, going out more and even joining in on the chirps when Tyson trips in the locker room and goes sprawling just beside the logo.

It makes Tyson breathe a bit lighter and look at the team from a different angle.

He knows he’s not in a good place contract-wise. Whatever kind of money he stood to make before the season has slowly been dwindling down with the decreasing quality of his plays until Craig seems bordering on worried about his future. Tyson already knows he won’t stay, _can’t_ stay in Toronto when the season ends, but it does make him a bit curious about what the team would look like in eleven months.

William Nylander seems to be a bit of an oddity in all of it.

Tyson knows he was a part of the three-headed monster the Leafs rolled out in 2016, the untested rookies destined to save Toronto from prolonged despair; the thing they’ve been tanking towards for so long. But where Matthews and Mitch both wore As for the team and were obviously respected by the team, William seemed a bit on the outside of that.

He knows he spent quite a bit of time with the Marlies before making the move to the NHL, but even then he seems a bit distant with the rest of the call-ups turned depth players, keeping himself mostly to Kapanen and Hyman when he came back to the team.

It doesn’t help that Babs tend to use him as his whipping boy, frustrated with him whenever they don’t win, ignoring him when he does well.

At the beginning of training camp, Tyson’s brain – desperate for any kind of similarities that he could hang on to – had associated him with Gabe. He knows they’ve plated together a couple of times, international events that often led them to success, and with both of them being young Swedish wingers, it had made sense.

But where Gabe is undeniably handsome, attractive almost to a fault with his bronzed hair and ridiculous smile, Willy is more delicate, pretty features and a softness to his face that make him seem younger than he is.

The most obvious different though, is how they act around people. Because if Tyson was needy, then Gabriel was downright hungry for other people to notice him; prancing about and gently teasing guys until they had no choice but to respond to his antics. Willy doesn’t seem to like the spotlight though.

He likes the praise and the compliments, preening quietly in his corner with his side flushed against Kapanen’s, but he seems to appreciate the attention from a distance rather than being the centre of everything the way Gabe would have wanted to be.

So Tyson knows it’s a bit of a risk to approach him, knows that Willy is probably satisfied with his own little bubble of people that he feels comfortable with and doesn’t have to hold back laughs for. But Tyson’s always been good with Swedes, and Calgarian Willy is no exception to his charms.

“How do you feel about IKEA, Willy?”

“I’m not him, you know.” Willy says when the silence stretches on a bit too long. They’re sitting in the cafeteria of an IKEA somewhere in Toronto that neither of them has been to with Willy lazily pushing around meatballs on a plate, “Gabbe.” He adds pointedly when Tyson just keeps staring blankly.

Tyson’s heard him called that before, whatever Swedes that had come through the team and Mikko when he was trying to be cheeky – ‘Look Gabe, I speak Swedish too if I’ve fucked up enough, so I’m still your favourite, right? But it never quite registered with him as a name for Gabe, didn’t quite associate it with what he knew to be Gabriel Landeskog.

Willy sighs and finally pushes the plate away in favour of the green monstrosities he had insisted on getting. “We might look alike,” which, _rude._ “But we’re not all the same, you know. You can’t just replace one with another, that’s not how it works.”

Tyson frowns.

He isn’t actively trying to replace the Avs despite what anyone seems to think – and if he was, wouldn’t he have started with the Dogg?

“You’re not nearly as pretty as Landy.” Tyson says instead, shaking his head when Willy tries to offer him some of his treat. “If I wanted a hot swede, I would have gone with Johnsson.”

Willy laughs, but it’s obviously the wrong thing to say because it sounds downright horrible, hollow and gruff like it’s hurting him. “You and Babs both, dude.”

Tyson grunts. “Hey, that wasn’t what I meant. I wasn’t being serious.” He says firmly and knocks their feet together. He reaches for the green thing when Willy offers it this time and takes a bite with confidence. It’s not bad, but it’s sweet and soft and not at all how he imagined it would taste, but he can see Gabe loving it.

It doesn’t seem to change anything about Willy’s wry smile, and maybe that’s why he chose to approach him. Because while he definitely isn’t like Gabe, he kind of reminds him of his own situation back on the Avs.

Tyson might not have been a centre touted to go top ten in the draft, but he was considered a key piece of the Avs when they started toying with the idea of being good again. He went through the salary dispute that seemed to tear on his relationship with management, and like Willy lately, Tyson remembers being blamed for everything the team did wrong – how a 2-5 loss could have been avoided if he just played a little bit better, played a little more like the kind of player they paid him to be.

“Look, I didn’t bring you here to rub our failure in your face,” Tyson says with a sigh, leaning back in the shitty plastic chair that wasn’t quite made for professional athletes. “Oppose to some people, I don’t believe there’s one guy responsible for us losing, or well – not in our paygrade at least.”

Willy doesn’t make a sound, but they’ve all heard the rumours. The speculations and the interviews with the brass about Babs’ future with the team, his increasing desperation with keeping the team as is despite the luck not turning in their favour.

Tyson doesn’t really care all that much about whether he stays or goes. He knows from Nate and Sid that Babs can be a great coach, inspiring them to work harder, play better and not leave until they had the gold firmly in their palms. So maybe it’s his aversion to silver, or maybe Babs just can’t coach anything less than an Olympic-level stacked team, but something has to change if they want to salvage the rest of the season.

“I’m not trying to have a heart to heart with you either. Trust me, I’m probably not your guy,” Tyson laughs softly but forces himself to sit upright and stop his leg from bouncing. “But I do wanna let you know that if you do need someone to talk to, someone who gets what being the black sheep on a team is like, I’m here.

“I know it can be hard to talk about, especially with teammates who think they’re in the same situation just because you’ve been there the same amount of time.”

Willy frowns, but he’s nodding and if nothing, he’s at least listening to what Tyson’s saying. “Thanks Tys.” He adds earnestly, “I appreciate it, for sure.”

Tyson sends him a brief smile, exhaling deeply before he starts to slump onto the table. “Don’t get sappy on me now, Nylander. I know how you Swedes get, and I’m not here for it. Save it for your girlfriend.”

Willy laughs, sharp but amused and knocks their feet together again. “Well, you’d know. Gabbe’s about the worst you can get.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyson says with a roll of his eyes, “I’ll text Kerf, see if he’s ready to get out of here. Normally he’s quite good at coming back to the group when he’s done with his thing, or you know, needs to refill his human interaction levels.”

“That happen a lot?”

Tyson shrugs making Willy frown, but he seems to take it in a stride. “Is there a reason why we’re here then, or is it just where you take all of your Swedish dates?”

“Kerf’s moving in with me, and he needed some quick furniture to fill up his room.” Tyson explains with a shrug. His phone buzzes with a text from Kerf telling them to meet him at the till which he relays to Willy as they get up from the table. “Also, are you saying you don’t like IKEA? Because that sounds vaguely unpatriotic of you.”

Willy snorts, “It’s not all that authentically Swedish, you know. Commercialising stuff tends to mess with the heart of it.” He’s still ale to navigate the badly drawn maps and misleading arrows on the floor easily enough to lead them onto an escalator that takes them back to the room filled with plants. “If you were going for making me comfortable, you could just stop by the house next time. We would be happy to have you.” 

Tyson frowns and tries not to look like he’s racking his brain for Willy’s living situation. “You and uh, Kasperi? Your house?”

“Unless we have another whiny guy who likes to make my life difficult in the mornings,” Willy says with an over-dramatic sigh, but it fond more than anything else. “That’s badly phrased, we have plenty of those on the team. Guys who hogs the covers insists on morning kisses without brushing his teeth, then.”

“We might still have a few of those, eh?” Tyson jokes, but even he can hear it sounds awkward. “You’re uh, together then?”

Willy hums, kindly ignoring his failed attempt at humour. “Yeah, coming up on four years soon.” He tells him with a wide grin, reaching out to feel the leaves on one of the plants – a big green thing with no flowers, but thick looking stems. “It’s not like. Not a lot of people know about it though. My brother knows, Nicke, the guys from when we won gold in 2017.” _Gabe_, Tyson’s brain unhelpfully supplies. “Kasu’s father knows, I think, his mom definitely. A few of the former Marlies, Hyms, and now you.”

Tyson tries to smile encouragingly.

It’s not the first time someone he barely knows has come out to him. Tyson has a very kind face that people want to spill their secrets to, and also Tyson doesn’t really try all that hard to hide the fact that he’s gay. Most of his friends know that he’s at least bisexual with a heavy preference for guys, but he doesn’t go out of his way to tell people because if they don’t notice on their own, there’s no need for Tyson to draw their attention to it.

“How is the locker room for you then?” Tyson asks instead. Because it’s one thing to wonder, hearing snippets of conversations, rumours that don’t always hold up when it comes to putting money where your mouth is. But Willy’s actually lived with these guys, played with them like brothers and a lot closer in age than Tyson, which often means a more honest conversation.

Willy shrug is disappointing but not surprising. “I mean, it’s hockey right? It’s not the best room to be in when you’re queer, but I’ve definitely been in worse – heard about worse than that too.” Willy says neutrally, hands in his pockets as he bumps into Tyson. “But you know, it’s enough to get by on, especially when you’re not alone.”

Willy’s looking very soft and vulnerable as he walks beside him, open in a way that Tyson hasn’t seen him being before, so instead of lingering awkwardly, Tyson wraps one of his arms around his shoulders and squeezes.

“Lucky we’re not alone then, eh?”

. . .

Willy and Kapanen come by to put together Kerf’s newly purchases furniture when Tyson refuses to help after being yelled at for using the screwdriver wrong. Tyson does sip his wine while they work and snaps a picture to send to Morgan to prove his earlier point that yes, Willy would be good at assembling IKEA furniture, whereas Kappy does alright if given verbal instructions instead of the shitty drawings from the manual.

The Leafs continue to suck and with another road-trip coming up, the team is miserable. They’re on the brink of something terrible it feels like, and when Hyman is activated at the cost of Mitch’s ankle, it seems that the entire house of cards is about to crumble.

Apparently six straight losses and 400 minutes spent without a lead is Dubas’ hard limit. They lose in Vegas, and a few hours later Sheldon Keefe appears in the rink, a clipboard under his arm and looking like a proud dad as he greets the guys from the Marlies.

Tyson doesn’t really believe in instant change when it comes to hockey. With a game that complex and so dependent on luck and outside effectors, changing one thing shouldn’t be enough to turn a sinking ship around.

But then Tyson steps on the ice with Muzz by his side, weaving past the Coyotes and scoring his first of the season. It’s the best they’ve been playing in a while, the best Tyson’s been playing all season, and while it’s not quite the shutout Freddie deserved, a win is a win is a win, and that’s enough for now.

They’re still on a road-trip so they can’t stay out all night, but for once they actually feel like the team they’re supposed to be, all twenty or so of them squeezed around the same table, sipping a beer or two and talking about the game like it was game 7 of the cup final.

It does wonder for moral, and Keefe seems tolerant if not a bit pleased when they come to practice looking tired but ready to play.

The next game takes them to Colorado, on Gabe’s fucking birthday to round out the irony of Tyson’s return.

True to habit, Tyson embarrasses himself even before the game begins, but so does Junior and Cale, so he puts that one down as a wash. The Avs are still plagued by injuries, so it’s only Nate he manages to catch at centre ice, but it’s still enough to make him feel weird when they end up winning the game in front of a disappointed home crowd.

Instead of following the team back to the hotel, Kerf directs him to the parking lot and into an all too familiar car that makes him frown out of experience. “I thought we weren’t meeting up until Toronto?” Tyson says but buckles in easily after bullying Junior out of the front seat.

“Plans changed.” Jost chirps happily and wraps his arms around Kerf when he slides in next to him on the backseat. Kerfs let out a sharp breath but quickly leans into the hug with more ease than Tyson remembers him being touched. “Gabe wanted to see you and even if it wasn’t his birthday, there really isn’t much you can do to change his mind.”

“Would be nice if EJ wasn’t icing his shoulder and could actually have a beer with us tonight, but –“

“Oh fuck off,” Kerf says on an exhale and kicks the back of the driver seat without letting go of Junior. “I already said I was sorry, what more do you need from me?”

“Excuse me if I find it weird that you’d board your own teammate, Alexander.” JT replies crossly and keeps his eyes very firmly on the road, never once straying to Kerf who seems increasingly exasperated.

“We’re not even on the same team anymore, Jay.” Kerf tries, his voice just a tad softer but his teeth are clenched, and he’s pulled back from Jost so he’s only holding his hand and instead facing JT head on if he were to look backwards.

“Just because you’re not in Colorado anymore doesn’t make you any less part of the team.”

Tyson doesn’t know which one of them is stupider, JT who is at least wrong on a factual level and could have phrased it better, or Kerf who seems to be missing the point entirely and keeps arguing.

Luckily Junior seems to have a handle on it, so Tyson doesn’t feel bad about slipping out of the car the minute they park in front of Gabe’s house. There’s music coming from the inside, so he lets himself in and doesn’t drop to his knees when Zoey scrambles to her feet from her perch on the stairs.

He does however bend down enthusiastically and lets her bully him onto the floor, but only because he’s polite.

EJ is the one to find him, walking stiffly back from the kitchen with a diet coke in his hand and stopping abruptly when he glances at him for a second time. “What are you doing on the floor, Four? No, don’t answer that. How long have you been on the floor?”

Tyson shrugs but doesn’t get up right away, at least not until Zoey becomes more interested in the sound of a bowl of chips spilling in the living room. “Are we never not on the floor, would be a better question actually. You know with the gravitational force and –“

“Yeah, so that’s definitely why you got traded.” EJ interrupts. He doesn’t quite offer him a hand up, not with his shoulder hurting like that, but he does nudge him with his foot enough that Tyson decides to get up. “Can’t have nerds like you and Kerf on the team if we want to win, all you do it drag us down. You know, gravitational forces and whatnot.”

Tyson splutters but doesn’t resist the hug when EJ pulls him into his chest and rests his bad arm gently on his back. “I’ll show you gravitational force.” He half mutters into the skin of EJ’s neck and lets himself go limp.

“Erik, did you find the bags on the upper shelf?” Someone calls followed by the steady thump of Gabe’s boot on his wooden floors, and then the guy himself appearing in the doorway still half-dressed in his suit from the box. “Tys, hey man. I didn’t know you had gotten here yet.” Gabe says with a soft smile.

If you don’t count the pictures from junior’s that Skinner had circulated the last time the two of them got into a fight, Gabe has never not looked good. But right here in the shitty light of his hallway, Gabe has never looked better. Maybe it’s the distance that had made Tyson remember him uglier to help him cope with the loss of his presence, but there’s something about the way he looks so at home, slightly rumbled but still in his suit and loosened tie that makes Tyson’s heart beat a little bit faster.

“Hi Landesnerd,” Tyson says softly. “I uh, I didn’t bring your gift with me. It’s still back in Toronto but it’ll be in the mail soon enough.”

“What? I don’t care about that.” Gabe begins to answer when Tyson remembers, “Oh, and happy birthday! The big two seven, huh? Only a couple of years before the grey starts to set in. Or with you Swedes, baldness probably.”

Gabe snorts but there’s a tick to his jaw that is so deeply familiar to Tyson that he’s almost conditioned to come up with another insult just to prolong the thrill of it all.

“Speaking from experience, Four? The curls do look a bit loose tonight.” He reaches out to touch his hair, but Tyson bats his hand away with a squawk.

EJ rolls his eyes loudly and untangles himself from Tyson who still hasn’t moved since Gabe came by. “I can’t be around for this.” He says and hightails it back to the kitchen.

“What’s up with him?”

Gabe shrugs but takes a step closer, “I think he missed you, I mean we all did. And it’s hard seeing you back here, knowing you have to leave and won’t be back for practice in the morning.” He says honestly like he’s just speaking the truth and not breaking Tyson’s heart into a million little pieces.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t have come here?” Tyson says with a frown and takes a step back only to bump into the wall when Gabe moves with him, less graceful than usually but with the same sense of purpose.

“Tys, of course not.” He says earnestly and finally makes the move to wrap his arms around him. He doesn’t hold anything back, keeping his arms tight around Tyson and resting his head on his shoulder as Tyson easily takes most of their weight to relieve Gabe’s bad leg. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

“Alright,” Tyson says sceptically. “What do we do then?”

Gabe pulls back but keeps his hands on Tyson’s shoulder, “How about we go find Nate, and you let us handle the rest tomorrow?” He asks with a kind smile, like Tyson isn’t going to be hurting the entire way to Toronto.

But it’s Gabe’s birthday and now isn’t the time to be pathetic about emotions that are nothing but misplaced. So Tyson nods and lets Gabe lead him through the living room and onto the couch he’s spent more time on than the bed he has back in Toronto.

Tyson sticks around longer than he probably should, longer than they’re usually allowed on game days.

But whenever he makes a move towards the door, shifting in his seat and nudging Nate so he can get up, something inside him clenches, protesting horribly. So he stays past he first beer and accepts the hard cider Colin somehow finds hidden away in one of Gabe’s cupboards, stays long enough that he responsibly switches to coke so he won’t be dead on his feet tomorrow.

Kerf and the rookies still haven’t made an appearance. But Tyson saw EJ leave for a while and come back a bit lighter on his feet, smiling just a bit brighter as he bullies one of the new guys out of his chair.

It’s not until Nate starts to yawn and Gabe starts offering guest rooms that he realises he should have left hours ago. But even lingering in the kitchen, insisting Gabe shouldn’t be left with the dishes on his birthday, he can’t make himself put on his coat or even say goodbye to Nate or EJ, instead hugging them tightly with a soft, “Good night, love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Because this is the closest he’s been t being home since he left BC back in August. Even with the team sort of coming together now, and Kerf settled into the guest room back in Toronto, the two of them making an actual effort to furnish the place, it’s still nothing compared to how he feels sitting on Gabe’s couch with Zoey on his feet and EJ being vaguely mean to him in ways that come off way too sappy.

“Tys?” Gabe says softly and appears beside him, boot almost silent on the floor as he reaches for the dish Tyson had been obsessively drying. “Do you want me to call you a car?”

He starts to nod, because that’s probably the right answer – what Tyson should say to ease the frown etching its way onto Gabe’s face. But it’s just the two of them now, and Tyson’s fucking sick of pretending that he’s alright. He releases a shuddering breath and leans back into Gabe’s chest and whispers softly, “What if I don’t want to leave?”

There’s a second where the world stands still, and he just imagines what it would be like if he didn’t leave Gabe’s house to go back to the hotel. If he stuck around in Colorado for the next half-year or so, and let things play out until he was free to leave Toronto and could come _ho_ –

Gabe wraps his arms around and pulls him away from the sink and up against the wall to better support his leg and Tyson’s sudden dead weight. He rests his head on Tyson’s shoulder and exhales deep enough the breath tickles the skin of Tyson’s throat. “Please tell me it isn’t that bad.” He begs softly, “I know the season’s been hard for you, but that’s not – I know Kerf’s been feeling like shit, but I thought at least you were doing better.”

Tyson rolls his eyes but doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to.

“You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to leave.” Gabe adds evenly and move into to hold him even tighter. “You can stay here if you want to, but Tys. I just want you to be sure, yeah? It’s not gonna e easy coming back if you leave now, especially not if you’re supposed to be playing for the Leafs.”

The sound he lets out is a mix of a whine and a groan, more of the former and just a bit of the latter. For once Tyson just wants Gabe to take off the C and throw caution to the wind and ask him to _stay_, instead of being so fucking reasonable.

But Gabe won’t do that.

Even if he did love Tyson the way he wanted him to, he would never ask Tyson to give up hockey to be with him, even if Tyson was outright begging him to do just that. So instead he clears his throat, wipes away the tears that he hopes Gabe didn’t see and says with a wry smile, “I’m not, just. Forget it yeah? I’m just being silly.”

“You’re not silly, Tyson.” Gabe says softly and nudges him until he turns around so they’re both leaning against the wall, Tyson’s hand on his hip to keep him balanced. “Nothing you’re feeling is silly, Four.”

Tyson laughs hoarsely, ducking his head and rolling his eyes. “Well, then maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic, eh?”

“Tys, no –“

Tyson shakes his head, “No, feelings are valid, I get that. But I’m not the first guy to get traded from the only team he’s ever played for, that’s just the business of it.” He says wryly, “But you know, at least I have Kerf and I’m at the end of my contract, so it’s really only until April.” Maybe longer if they make it to the playoffs, but Tyson isn’t a betting man and the Leafs aren’t known for deep runs.

Gabe still looks unsettled, hands hovering like he might grab Tyson at any moment and refuse to let him go until everything is right in the world. So he bumps their shoulders together and takes the first painful step towards the hallway. “I’m okay, really Gabe. It’s just, being here in this house with the guys, you and EJ, Nate. I just miss it a lot, and it’s hard for me to leave not knowing when we’ll see each other again, yeah?”

There’s a moment where it looks like Gabe might argue, jaw set and mouth pinched. But Tyson must look – tired, sad? – _something_, so instead he settled on a deep sigh. “You should call more. I know you text Nate daily, and whenever Erik does something dumb. But you never call us.”

“Because we’re millennials, Landesnerd.” He says making a face as he shrugs into his coat that Gabe reluctantly hands over. “Children of the technological age and all that. We don’t use our phones for calling anymore.”

“Cale’s a gen Z,” Gabe says like he actually knows what it means and didn’t just read it on twitter, “He can still figure out how to pick up the phone when I need him to.”

Tyson snorts, “Cale’s a seventeen-year-old hockey prodigy dating G, he’s not good representation.”

Gabe shrugs and opens the door to let Zoey out for a quick pee. “Are you saying you’re not going to call me?”

Tyson lets out a quick breath and looks at his phone to see how far away the car it. “That’s not what I’m – alright, I’ll try at least, yeah? I’ll definitely pick up whenever you call me, maybe even accept a FaceTime when I start to forget your face.”

Gabe laughs, loud and startled, and pulls him into his arms. “You better. I still haven’t seen any pictures of Ralph, Zoey’s getting suspicious that you just don’t like her anymore.”

“Nah, she knows I love her.”

Gabe snorts, squeezing him one last time before pulling back. “It was nice seeing you tonight, Tys. Get home safe, yeah? And maybe score a goal or two for me.”

Maybe it’s the way his phone is vibrating in his back pocket announcing the car pulling up around the corner, or how soft Gabe looks in the shitty light of his front door. Maybe it’s knowing that Tyson probably isn’t going t see him before the season has ended and that should probably be enough time to get over him getting rejected. Maybe it’s Tyson infamous lack of higher brain function when Gabe’s in his vast vicinity, because suddenly he’s blurting out, “What? No goodbye kiss?”

Which, to be fair, isn’t the worst thing to say, but definitely is neither the time nor space for it. But instead of frowning or worse, shutting the door in his face, Gabe smiles, too warm for this shitty fall night, and chuckles, “If you wanted a kiss, Four, you could just ask.”

Tyson rolls his eyes, because Lenny Barrie might have raised an anxious mess with never-shut-up syndrome, but he certainly wasn’t a quitter. Tyson leans forward with a hand wrapped around Gabe’s neck and kisses the corner of his mouth, not quite on the lips, but close enough that he feels drunk pulling away.

“happy birthday, Gabe.” He whispers softly, both of them standing stock still for just a moment before Tyson books it to the car, slamming the door behind him.

. . .

The Leafs continue to the East and break Keefe’s winning streak, but somehow, life still goes on.

Kerf gets suspended for his hit on EJ and has to sit two games. Neither Keefe nor Johnny have much to say, so the responsibility somehow falls to Tyson who is deemed – as the guy with the most Kerf experience, as well as the A he wore in Colorado – good enough for the job.

Tyson was never the disciplinarian of the leadership group; he was mostly there for funsies and fining privileges to keep EJ from going entirely mad with power. But he is nothing if not a good student.

So after a thorough google session about concussion statistics and everything popping up with the combination of ‘injuries’ and ‘hockey’ as well as Kerf’s own penalty stats – which had grown exponentially since coming to Toronto – Tyson had sat him down on the couch and hadn’t let him leave until he could cite every recent major concussion and penalty kill leading to a game-winning goal for the other team.

“And just,” Tyson says as his closing remarks, “If you absolutely have to hit someone, please try to avoid our friends, and you know, someone almost a foot taller than you.”

Kerf shrugs sitting with his arms crossed and a snoring Ralph in his lap, but at least he looks chastised and that’s all Tyson’s job really was. “Pick someone my own size you say?”

Tyson nods, “Yes, that one. Clichés are there for a reason, Alexander. You should know, Harvard boy.”

Kerf sitting doesn’t seem to change much, and even under Keefe they seem to regress to the team they were before, unsure of what good hockey and half their cap space tied up in four players should look like.

It seems to be the case for most teams, either entirely losing whatever hype they had gathered in the pre-season or somehow outplaying their own potential until their PDO was through the roof and doomed to crash when they got closer to the second half of the season.

Colorado comes to town on a 3-game winning streak, and with almost half a week without hockey, they look ready for blood.

Tyson is not so much dropping by the visitor’s locker room, as he is being summoned by a very stern text from Nate who is already hanging around outside, barely dressed and clearly waiting for him.

“No need to hurry, Dogg. I would’ve waited for you if you wanted to put some more clothes on.” He says with a wry smile but wraps his arms around him anyway.

EJ looks fittingly pathetic, hamming it up just a bit too much when Kerf tries to sneak past them and into the locker room proper. “Are you fucking –“ Kerf says, stopping in the door to the room to sigh and stare at him with a deeply unimpressed look. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to injure you, Erik.”

EJ shrugs, “Doesn’t make me heal faster, you know.” He says wistfully and leans into Sammy G who’s too whipped not to play into the bit, rubbing his back and cooing a soft, “Mon chum, mon _poor_ chum.”

Kerf rolls his eyes but dutifully stays in his spot, “What do you want me to do?”

EJ looks thoughtful, like this entire scenario wasn’t premeditated and planned down to the smallest detail. “Well, I guess what would be fitting is for you to pay the fine for injuring your teammate.”

“That’s not a –“

“I’m not even on the team,” Kerf protests, but even he’d admit it’s weak. “You can’t demand my money anymore.”

EJ bops his head back and forth, “Well, it’s more like you don’t have to give me the money; I can still demand them.” Dutchy had quite a long list of fines due in the bank of Johnson – betrayal, attempts of mutiny, general misdemeanours when Erik hadn’t found his presence pleasing enough. “But in the light of recent events, I would think you’d be a bit more cooperative.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Nate nudges Tyson out of the small circle they had formed and up against the wall on the other side, ignoring the fight that would have broken out between Kerf and G if the latter hadn’t been held back by a flushed and confused Cale Makar. “That’s quite a rowdy crowd you got there,” Tyson comments with a frown, watching Kerf finally sneak past the guys and into the room.

Nate rolls his eyes and that seems to be his only comment on the state of the team, obviously more than ready to give the pseudo C back to Gabe. “So,” He says instead and turns his back to his teammates, “How are you feeling Tys?”

Tyson gives him a shrug, leaning back against the wall. “As well as, I guess. Sucks about Philly, but we’ll get through it. Keefe seems to have a –“

“Yeah? Because Gabe mentioned you were a bit off back home,” Nate interrupts in a voice that’s supposed to be neutral but falls just shy of it, still holding Tyson’s arm in a tight grip that prevents him from moving too far away. “Which you know, I find strange because whenever we talk, you always say things are going great.”

Tyson rolls his eyes, “You know Gabe, His default setting is to make a big deal out of everything.”

Nate laughs, short and sweet and entirely too fake. “That’s what I thought! But hen Junior butted in – you know how he is,” he mocks with a smile and squeezes his arm tighter, “and apparently Kerf doesn’t think you’re feeling great either.”

“Well, if Gabe’s dramatic, Kerf is just downright –“

“Tys,” Nate says, exhaling deeply. He lets go of Tyson’s arm only to wrap himself around it until he’s resting his head on Tyson’s shoulder, conveniently out of eyesight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tyson hunches his shoulders, but Nate is nothing if not persistent and instead wraps his other hand around his waist to drag him even closer to his chest. “When would I tell you?” He finally settles on, letting it all come rushing out. “When the season started and my only excuse was my weird co-dependency, or recently when you started carrying an entire fucking hockey team on your back?

“I didn’t wanna pile onto you,” Tyson admits in a small voice, “And you know, it’s not really your problem that I’m bad at adjusting.”

Nate frowns. He bumps their heads together until Tyson releases the tension in his body and instead slums back against the wall. “Nah, but I am your best friend, so you can tell me these kinds of things, Beauts.”

They’re still not looking at each other, but Tyson can feel the sappy look Nate must be looking at him with, how it makes his heart clench knowing he’s going leave the building in a few hours and Tyson won’t see him again for a long while. And maybe that’s the kind of things he would want to know what Gabe had been fishing for back in Denver – but Tyson isn’t ready for that conversation just yet, not when he knows there isn’t a permanent fix to his situation that won’t eventually make him sad again.

So instead he clears his throat and tire snot to sound pitchy as he mumbles, “Well, that’s a bit presumptuous of you –“

Nate just shakes his head, but he’s smiling so at least Tyson hasn’t fucked up beyond repair. “Did you catch Gabe on your way here? They think his leg is gonna be alright soon, so he’s traveling with the team.” He asks instead, the subject change as elegant as the Dogg off the ice, but Tyson appreciates it all the same.

Tyson did know that from his late-night deep-dives into Avs’ land that makes him equal parts nostalgic and melancholic. But Gabe hadn’t mentioned it un any of his text prefacing today, so he probably isn’t supposed to know.

“Yeah, no. He didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“Huh, that’s strange, eh?” Nate frowns and tightens the arm around his waist, “But kinda like how you didn’t tell me you kissed him either?”

Tyson squawks and then starts shushing him before EJ can catch wind of it. “What the fuck, Dogg? You can’t just spring that shit on me!” He pulls himself away from Nate and turns around furiously.

Nate shrugs, and maybe it’s Tyson’s fault for being foolish enough to approach him before a game when everything’s focussed aggressively on taking home the win, with adrenaline flowing and Nate who doesn’t pull any punches even in practice. “What? You never had a problem telling me about your sex life before, I don’t see what’s changed!”

“There’s no –“ Tyson yells before catching himself and lowering his voice, ignoring the sharp looks from the group by the door. “There’s no _sex_ involved. It was his birthday, so I kissed him on the cheek as a goodbye. That’s not something you call home about.”

“It is when it’s the guy you’ve been in love with for years.” There’s something about the way he says it, offhand and entirely relaxed, like it just _is_; because of course Tyson’s in love with Gabe – and not in that strange unavoidable way the rest of the team seem to be these days.

And of course, Tyson hasn’t been panicking about it every night since, because what if it changed something between them? What if it didn’t change enough?

“Can you shut up?” Tyson hisses.

Nate rolls his eyes, reaching out for Tyson once again. “Look, I’m not saying we need to talk about it, but we can if you need to, yeah? I’m just saying that you should talk to him about what happened, even if you feel it wasn’t anything new or big, or whatever shit you’ve probably written it off as.

“He mentioned it to me, and I think he was fishing for what you’d told me, but –“ Nate waves between them, “So talk to him please, otherwise EJ will be the next guy to come by, and he’s not as kind as me when it comes to Gabe.”

Tyson frowns because, “Is this some kind of shovel talk? From you – to me about Gabe?”

Nate looks just as confused about the situation, but maybe the pressure of having neither Gabe nor Mikko on his line as well as having to step in as interim captain has made him a bit more adjusted to going with the flow, “It’s not meant to be? But EJ will for sure take it that way.”

EJ has always been weird about Gabe.

None of them knew when it had started, just that when Tyson had arrived, baby-faced and in his seasoned Cleveland Monsters jersey to a smiling and overly attractive captain with a just as blonde but not quite as hot, tall shadow ready to glare him into the ground if he even thought about defying the baby captain’s orders.

Tyson exhales deeply, louder than necessary. “Alright, and who’s talking to Gabe then?”

“You can probably get Schenner to do it, Croz if you really wanted to give him a scare, but.” Nate shrugs noncommittally.

Tyson scoffs disgusted, ready to tell him just how much betrayal hurts when someone calls his name from the corridor. “Tys, Alex! Warm-ups in 20, and JT still wants to have a quick word.” Mitch appears around the corner and bumps into EJ with a soft, “Oh, didn’t see you there!”

EJ looks genuinely shocked and somehow lets Mitch past into the room, sending Tyson a quick thumbs-up before he disappears after Kerf. “Maybe I’ll get Mitch to do it, he doesn’t seem like a traitor like the rest of you.”

Nate snorts, “Send the entire team if you want, it’s not going to change anything. Just, please talk to him, okay?”

“Fine, whatever.” Tyson spits and pushes himself away from the wall, “But try to remember who your best friend is, eh? Maybe slip in a bad word or two after one of his speeches, show him where your allegiance really is.”

Nate just shakes his head, so ventures into the locker room to pick up Kerf who looks right at home in a stall between JT and Josty; Mitchy who’s somehow found and wrapped himself around Kadri in the few minutes it took for him to get there. “Say goodbye boys, you’ll see each other on the ice in a bit.”

Kerf rolls his eyes, bumping gently into his eyes before leaving the room without waiting for the others, but Mitch kindly laughs and waves goodbye to Kadri with a smile, “I’ll facetime you later this week, let Zeus meet his uncle, properly, yeah?”

“You better,” Kadri yells after them. For a split second he looks sad watching them leave, but then Mitch is looking back and Kadri’s settled back into whatever steeled front he’s mastered through the years of living in a city that didn’t like him much, “Can’t let Mo beat me, eh? Tell the boys I said hi.”

. . .

The Leafs lose the game, which isn’t all that big of a surprise.

It’s not an embarrassing loss; 3 to 1 is decent even if it does make it back to back games that Freddie’s been pulled in, but they’d been playing alright and with Mikko back in the Avs’ line-up, no one had really expected them to win tonight.

Despite his profession and the almost inherent competitiveness of professional sports, Tyson tires not to take losses to heart. It doesn’t always work, especially not with Nate’s infectious and reactive moods as an almost expected background to his own, but Tyson had made an effort over the years trying to cope with the string of disappointments in ways that didn’t affect him personally. This though, feels different.

There’s a bitterness to the loss that he hadn’t noticed before, a sourness to his mood as he strips his gear and goes to stand in the shower long enough that Kerf feels the need to come back in to let him know not to expect him tonight, “So like, you don’t have to wait up for me, not that you know, you’re the type to do that, but especially tonight, you don’t have to, okay?”

Tyson waves him off, too tired to deal with whatever shit he’s obviously trying to hide, “Just, try not to wake Ralph, yeah?”

The loss doesn’t feel any better when he’s freezing his ass off getting dressed, but at least most of the room has emptied out so he doesn’t have to worry about sulking in front of the entire team.

Willy seems to be lingering in his stall, messing around on his phone and sneaking a peek whenever Tyson sighs particularly loud. He appreciates the support, but it doesn’t make it any easier when he’s finally dressed in his suit and have to leave for the visitor’s room once again.

And then his phone buzzes with a picture of the inside of s bus obviously filled with delighted Avalanche players and the side of Gabe’s head which seems weirdly normal-sized from that angle.

_Just call him, idiot _

Comes in just after, so maybe Nate does know how fucking bitter he’s become.

“You wanna come by for a beer?” Willy asks softly. He’s standing just a foot behind Tyson now, frowning eyes flickering from the phone in Tyson’s hands to his hunched shoulders. “Kasu also has some whine and shit if you’re still pretending to have a quote refine palate. But we’re drawing the line at LaCroix mixers.”

“It’s pronounced La-_Croy_.” Tyson corrects absentmindedly as he puts on his coat.

Willy chokes hard enough that he starts coughing, “Not when we’re in Canada, it’s not.”

“Anyway, I have to get home.” Tyson says, ignoring his wrong opinion. “But tell Kappy I’ll come by when you can offer me anything but dry wine and beer only you and Freddie like. Oh, and G&Ts, I hate those – it might be December, but I don’t wanna swallow the entire tree, you know?”

Willy still doesn’t look happy, but Tyson wants to catch Gabe before they board the plane to Montreal – pain is always better served quick rather than prolonged and worried, his mom always says – so he waves a quick goodbye and books it to the garage.

The Avs must have just reached the lounge area when Gabe picks up, obviously only paying half attention to his phone as he keeps talking to EJ in the background, “I don’t even know, they said they would be there tomorrow before practice, but we might need a backup if, you know –“

“Is this a bad time?” Tyson interrupts. He bends down and lets Ralph off his leash, kicking off his shoes and makes his way into the living room that, as promised is devoid of Kerf. “I can call back later, it’s fine.”

“Tyson?” Gabe cuts off, “No man, of course I have time for you, there was actually something I needed to speak to you about. Erik’s just being – no, fuck off! I’m still on IR, it’s not actually my problem yet.”

“Rowdy rookies?”

“Oh, if only it was the rookies, but. That’s not my problem.” Gabe grunts and he must have left the lounge area because the background noise has quieted down to a low hum. “Listen, so about my birthday. I think there’s something we need to talk about, and after Nate said he spoke to you, I was kinda hoping you would come by, but this is fine too.”

And fuck, Tyson had entirely forgotten. “Shit Gabe, I’m so sorry. Your gift should be on its way, I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing, but at this point I should have just sent it with your Christmas present, eh?”

Gabe laughs, quiet and sweet and entirely for Tyson. “Thanks bud, but like. I don’t really care about my present –“

“But you don’t even know what I got you.” Tyson protests, and if he sounds too soft then Ralph wouldn’t know any better. “I’m the best gift-giver on the team. Colin can fuck off with his matching presents to energies instead of wishes, I still have the back to back titles.”

“No one’s coming for your crown, Four.” He assures with a chuckle, “Even fools know they take can’t take on gods.”

Tyson nods fiercely, “Good.” At least he’ll have this, then.

Gabe clears his throat like Tyson doesn’t already know all of his tricks on how to start hard conversations. Ut at least this time they both know it’s coming, so Tyson leans back and lets Ralph jump his way to the couch and into his lap until they’re both settled and ready for the world to stop spinning.

“Listen, I really don’t wanna get this wrong, because you mean so much to me, Tys.” He starts off calmly, but his pace is too fast, and cadence too forced to let Tyson relax entirely. “I know the trade was hard on us, you especially. But you’re still one of my best friends and I really don’t wanna lose that if this was all just a misunderstanding.”

Tyson frowns then, there’s really not a lot of ways one can misunderstand a kiss.

But if Gabe wants to play ignorant and keep their friendship as is, then there’s not much he can do to change it, doesn’t want to force his hand if Gabe’s not already in this alongside him.

Tyson doesn’t want to be selfish, risking their entire friendship – multiple friendships, if the way EJ’s been acting is any indicator, and who the fuck knows about Nate if it starts messing with team chemistry – on the off chance that Gabe might actually want to repeat the kiss.

Because Gabe’s never been afraid of anything, been nothing but confident when it came to things he wanted, so why would loving Tyson be so fucking different than anything else he had gone after?

“Tyson, can you hear what I’m saying?”

“No, I – you’re fine. I can hear you.” Tyson responds promptly, clenched teeth and stomach twisting terribly. “And uh, I think we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah?” Gabe asks, and there’s definitely a different sound to his voice now, not quite relief but something just as delicate pouring off him. “Are you sure? Because this is a big deal and if we –“ he breaks off with a laugh that sounds just a tad delirious, but it’s all the in Tyson needs.

“No, no. I get it, staying friends is key and all that.” Tyson repeats back at him, hollowly and trying not to squeeze Ralph too much. But he isn’t sure he can keep listening to Gabe telling him how good of a friend he is, so he retreats. “Hey uh, is that Nate I hear in the background?”

“What? That’s not what I was –“ Gabe says, and Tyson can hear the confusion clear in his voice, but he’s also tired and they’ve just lost the game, and Freddie’s probably going to kill them tomorrow, so he’s not really sure he can do this again. “Tyson, are you sure we’re talking about the –“

“That is the Dogg!” Tyson cuts in instead, a mirror of Gabe’s laugh from before. “Can you pass the phone to him?”

Gabe inhales sharply, and something that sounds expensive hits the ground on his side, loud enough to make Tyson flinch. But Gabe stays firm, only hissing slightly when he must have bent down to clear up the mess, “I’m – Tyson, I’m not even in the same area as him.”

“Oh yeah. It’s probably easier just to call him up, huh?”

“Tys, please –“ And Tyson almost thinks he’s finally going to break and actually yell at him, but Gabe just sighs deeply, the exhale going on forever before he finally continues. “He’s talking to Andre right now, but he’ll probably answer if you’re the one calling.”

“Well, good luck tomorrow against the Habs then. Bye Gabe!”

Tyson doesn’t hesitate before calling up Nate, lest Gabe remembers that he is weak-willed and probably would pick up the phone if he tried calling him again. But Nate is nothing if not glued to his phone, and even he needs more exposure than half a season for his loyalties to change.

“You’re such a fucking coward, T-Bear.” He hisses instead of a greeting, but even he sounds resigned. “I should have made you come see him, shouldn’t I? Maybe EJ should have been the one to –“

Tyson releases a shuddering breath that he’s been keeping in since Gabe picked up the phone, “Could you just, fuck off about Gabe for a second?”

Nate tuts, “I’m only up your ass because you’re fucking ridiculous! Did you even ask him what he wanted? Or did you just assume you already knew?”

“Excuse me for not wanting to get my heart broken! I know I’m ridiculous about this, alright? But you have to let me work through it the way I need to, otherwise I’ll never get better.” He shouts in a burst of anger, quick-fused and already dying. “And excuse you if I want to call my best friend, and I actually expect him to be able to abstract from a situation you put me in, to make me feel better.”

Nate swears, loud and foul-mouthed enough that someone giggles on his end of the phone. “Fine, alright? I’ll back off, I just think you’re being a – but that’s not my place, I get that.” He breathes out, slow and measured and Tyson can already imagine the redness of his cheeks and the frustration he’s trying to force away with it. “I just want you to be happy, Tyson. And sometimes I wonder if you want that too.”

Tyson laughs, tired and soft and maybe just entirely too self-deprecating. “I don’t wanna talk about Gabe anymore. Anything else, just tell me a story Dogg. How did thanksgiving go? Or Byram’s WHL stats. Did Sid finally figure out how to optimise that –“

At some point Nate does jump in, reluctantly taking over the conversation so Tyson doesn’t have to do anything but just sit there and listen.

Tyson is rudely awoken by the front door slamming shut.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem if he didn’t have a dog sensitive to loud noises, and a roommate whose whereabouts he’s still uncertain of. But instead of a possible intruder, he finds Kerf standing in the hallway looking flushes and frustrated as he speaks quietly at Ralph, dressed only in sweatpants and a frayed tee shirt Tyson seen him in before.

“What are you doing?” Tyson says, eyes squinted and voice still rough with sleep.

Kerf jumps in surprise before focusing in on Tyson with a small frown, “Huh? What do you mean, am I no longer allowed in the common living areas?”

Tyson lets out a noise of frustration, “It’s ass o’clock, Kerfoot. Why are you waking me up?”

“Oh, I uh – went outside, uh for, a run.”

Tyson nods and takes another look at his outfit that is way too thin and light for the Torontonian winter outside, especially for one with as soft, delicate British Columbian skin as Kerf. “Did you bring Ralph with you?”

“Yeah, ha. That’s a good idea actually, he could use the exercise.”

Tyson scoffs and looks down at the dog who is dancing on his feet for a walk now that Tyson is out of bed, looking well-fed and healthy. “So that’s a no on the walk then?”

Kerf frowns and then nods conceding, “So that’s a no on the walk then?”

“Fucking hell, Kerf.” He says under his breath and strolls back to the bedroom to put on clothes. Coming back, he passes through the kitchen and sees the dirty pans in the sink which makes his heart just a little lighter, “Oh, did you make breakfast? Because that might actually be –“

“There are no leftovers,” Kerf calls over his shoulder, walking back to his room with a yawn. “Oh, and we’re out of eggs and that weird bacon substitute you’re pretending not to hate because Nate told you you would, so.”

“What’s the point of having a roommate if all you do is fuck up my life?” Tyson yells at the closed door before marching to the door so he can get back to sleep.

. . .

Christmas comes too quickly and with only a few days off, Tyson doesn’t make the trip back home. Kerf is on a plane out of Toronto, and with most of the team paired off with friends and family already in the area, Tyson ends up inviting himself to Willy and Kappy’s house for the night.

Despite everything Gabe has told him about Christmas in Scandinavia, neither of them seems to appreciate it when he shows up on the 24th with a box of mulled wine under one arm and two badly wrapped presents under the other.

“Happy holidays!” He says cheerfully and nudges Willy to the side until he’s allowed into the apartment. “I’m no good at following recipes, but I found this.” He hands over the wine and shakes off his coat to William who still hasn’t moved from his spot by the door. “Is it not the right one? The lady said it was Danish, but I figured the difference wasn’t important.”

Will clears his throat in that obnoxious way of his, throwing the coat over the back of a chair before squinting at the wine. “Well, it looks alright? But we’re not actually glögg people.” He says offhandedly, setting it down by the shoes – all ready for Tyson to take back home it seems. “Also, you do know that Christmas isn’t until tomorrow, right? Kasperi’s in the airport picking up his parents and getting them settled in the hotel right now.”

Tyson sits down on one of the couches, a soft white thing with absolutely no back support. “I thought you celebrated Christmas a day earlier over on your side of the pond. Or have I just been led astray for most of a decade?”

Willy sighs and sits down in the lone armchair, throwing a leg over the side until he’s sprawled out widely but looking oddly serene, “I mean, I won’t contradict any of your experiences, but Kasu and I were basically raised in North America and spent a lot of the holidays here. And with a lot of the teams doing team stuff today, we just figured moving Christmas to the 25th just like the rest of the country wasn’t that big of a deal, you know?”

Gabe had made it seem like a very big deal.

Requesting everyone who wasn’t making the trek home to come to his place or whatever hotel room they were stuck in during those few unfortunate years. The small Christmas trees he somehow kept finding despite December being the busiest months of them all, and then having them decorate it together.

The mulled wine no one except Nate liked but politely drank because Gabe was the one offering, Secret Santa where at least half the team would end up buying presents for EJ; Gabe humming softly under his breath and getting misty-eyed watching his boys tear apart wrapping paper and throwing it at each other.

It becomes clear that Willy has no intention of entertaining him other than the odd laugh at whatever’s on his phone, but he seems reluctant to let him go when Tyson makes a move to get up from the couch.

“Kerf’s still gone?” He asks with teeth in his lip sparring a lone moment to look up from his phone to meet his eyes.

“I would think,” Tyson says suspiciously, “I mean, unless he forgot his passport or something and they had to kick him out of the airport, but with him I doubt it.”

Willy nods once and turns back to his phone. But then one of his feet lands in Tyson’s lap, a careless move leaving it weirdly flexed and putting almost no weight on Tyson, and Willy’s already awkward pose turns from bad to worse. But the foot stays in his lap, so Tyson stays on the couch and wordlessly accepts the hone where Willy’s already put in his and Kappy’s order for food.

There’s a part of him that knows that Willy obviously feels bad for him and doesn’t want him to spend the holidays alone; that with Kerf out of town, he must seem utterly alone in that big, empty apartment of his that still seems more familiar to his teammates than him.

But maybe, underneath all the pity and the sympathy that makes his teeth hurt, part of it is because Willy is his friend and doesn’t want him to be alone. That Willy doesn’t’ mind hanging out with him in his plainly decorated living room that reminds him too much of a young Gabe who’d just moved out of EJ’s place and still thought being Swedish in North America was enough of a personality if you were hot.

Tyson’s not sappy enough to say any of that though, so he just taps in his order and hands the phone back to him, squeezing his foot when Willy just smiles.

Kappy comes back when the food has gone cold and almost non-existent because, “I mean, it’s almost inedible if it’s cold, don’t you think?” Willy had said offhandedly, eyeing the spring rolls he had made sure to put aside when the food arrived, “He probably ate with his family too, so it would really be a waste if we didn’t eat it, yeah?”

“Oh, for sure. Think about all the food we’ll have tomorrow. Christmas is the feast of leftovers.” Tyson had chimed in, already reaching for one of the full boxes, “And like, didn’t he mention he was going to cut down on carbs?” to which Willy had nodded enthusiastically.

Kappy doesn’t seem to notice the leftovers when he comes into the room, or at least ignores them in favour of curling up next to Willy in the armchair. It’s a tight squeeze with not one but two professional hockey players and what seems to be a purely decorative chair meant more for the aesthetic rather than actual comfort.

But then Willy turns, slouches down and grips the hem of Kappy’s shirt, and suddenly the tangle of messy limbs is more like an organised chaos, the two of them curled so tightly around each other that if it wasn’t for the obvious difference in clothes, Tyson wouldn’t have known where one started and the other one ended.

Neither of them says anything, but Willy puts his phone down and instead turns to watch Kappy with soft eyes, breathing heavy with his head resting on Willy’s chest and fingers twitching as they hold him close.

Tyson leaves shortly after that, cleaning the table and placing some water within touching distance before he lets himself out, unsure if anyone of them had even noticed him moving – too caught up in each other to notice the world turning around them.

It’s later, when he’s already tucked into bed with Ralph warming his feet and the clock ticking away towards midnight, that he fishes out his phone and finally calls up Gabe.

Gabe who sounds tired but not sleepy, speaking to Tyson in a soft voice with even softer words and asks about the night Tyson’s had. But Tyson doesn’t care about Christmas the way Gabe does; doesn’t care about Christmas when it isn’t celebrated the way Gabe does it.

So instead he makes Gabe send a picture of the tree – both the pretty one with the ornaments that they had decided to actually purchase this year, and the one where they’re all awkwardly squatted down in front of a tree a third of their height, holding each other tightly and smiling until they would feel it in their cheeks tomorrow – and spill the beans on Secret Santa, which ultimately had been a success as Colin wisely had foreseen EJ’s tricks and decide to buy presents for all of them instead.

He snitches on Wily and laughs when Gabe calls him out for being a bad Swede, because Tyson definitely got a box of something at least proximate to what he drank back in Stockholm. “I thought you didn’t like it, Four.” Gabe says warmly at the end of a laugh, “And here you are, bringing it to every Swede you meet.”

Tyson scoffs, “Yeah well, here I was trying to be respectful to your traditions, and then I find out every Swedish thing you’ve introduced to is basically just things you like.” There were plenty of things he had tried to share with Willy and Pierre that had ended with both just wrinkling their noses and looking at him strangely. “Willy doesn’t even like IKEA, you know. Turns out it’s not actually Sweden’s favourite place on earth, Gabriel.”

“I am Swedish, you know.” Gabe says sternly like he’s trying to convince Tyson of something, rather than just telling him that the sky is blue, and water is in fact wet.

“Really? I had no idea! It’s not like –“

“So anything I like is basically a Swedish thing.”

Tyson is prepared to argue the point to the death when there’s a rustle on the other end that makes him pause. It’s the sound of someone moving around in the sheets, fabric making noises paired with a bed creaking and then Gabe laughing softly, and suddenly there’s a hint of nausea in the back of Tyson’s throat, crawling its way to his mouth so fast he has to sit up in case he has to run to the bathroom.

He listens as Gabe softly coos at whoever’s in his bed, the same soft words that had made his heart warm is now making his skin crawl. It’s humiliating that Tyson had thought Gabe wasn’t seeing anyone, that with Nate off with his boyfriend and EJ almost permanently attached to Sammy G and Cale, he wouldn’t invite them along with him so he wouldn’t have to be –

“Mikko says hi, by the way.” Gabe tells him followed by a scoff, “What? No, I’m not ordering you food, bud. I’m your captain, not your fucking mum, Meeks.”

“Oh,” Tyson says faintly, his own voice hardly audible over the harsh pumping of his heart making him lightheaded, “Mikko’s there? That uh, sounds like fun.”

The bed creaks quietly followed by a loud bang of a door slamming shut. Gabe hesitates another second or two before continuing, “Yeah, I think he’s been feeling a bit down lately, homesick here close to the holiday. And you know how I feel about people being alone on Christmas.”

Tyson exhales deeply. He finds his way under the covers and nudges Ralph back into his arms. “Also, you’re fucking whipped.” He says breezily, ignoring the flutter in his stomach when Gabe laughs.

“I mean, we don’t usually say it out loud, but also that, yeah.”

Tyson rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Merry Christmas, Gabe. Say hi to the rest of the team for me.”

“Happy holidays, Four. Love you.”

Arriving at the apartment on Christmas day, Tyson is greeted by a man who looks vaguely familiar but also very unlike the guy he thought would have raised Kasperi.

Sami Kapanen is a shorter guy with a kind smile and a very strong DILF vibe that Tyson doesn’t manage to shake for the entire night. He’s smaller than both Kappy and him but filled out in a way that screams former player still involved with the sport, haircut neat and tight and dressed in a neutral coloured suit that seems too tight for the casual event of tonight.

It’s not until Kappy introduces him as his teammate that Tyson sees the similarities between father and son, eerily present in the frowning look of scepticism as Sami looks him over, the rise of his brow when he’s informed that Tyson is the defenceman they got in return in the Kadri trade, and entirely unimpressed when he scrolls through his phone later, surely looking up Tyson’s stats.

But Tyson’s never been a hit with the older hockey crowd who seems to think a defenceman’s value is linearly proportional to this size. So he smiles kindly and moves to introduce himself to Mrs. Kapanen instead.

Dinner goes fine. The food is a bit too fatty for what Tyson usually prefers, but it’s Christmas and the alternative would have been whatever place decided to make a fortune on poor souls like himself with no friends and family close by. He offers to do the dishes and smirks when Kappy is urged into the kitchen alongside him.

“Come now, Kasperi. You can’t let your guests do all or your hard work.” Mrs. Kapanen tuts, rising from the table with her glass of wine in one hand and Willy’s in the other. “Call me when you want me to start on dessert.”

Despite Tyson’s apprehension after meeting the man, Sami seems to like Willy well enough. It’s not quite the same ease that he touches Kappy with, but Tyson notice the arm around his shoulder, the tap on his back when he hands over a beer or tells a particularly amusing story about the season; the fondness Sami looks at him with when Willy speaks about Kappy, obviously, adoringly in love with his kid, and the soft smile when Kasperi leans down to kiss him on his way to pick up the empty glasses.

“So uh, Willy’s family didn’t want to come, have the entire clan together?” Tyson asks as he heaves a giant glass dish out of the soapy water and hands it over. “Or is the Kapanen/Nylander rivalry too great?”

Kappy smirks but it doesn’t look very kind. “They were invited, you know. Willy loves his brother more than anything, so they had decided Alex would go to Toronto after their last game, and then everyone could just come here for Christmas.” He says with a wry laugh, wiping down the dish before putting it off to the side and accepting the next. “But Michael didn’t understand why we would celebrate together. Just because we live together, doesn’t mean we have to mix our families, that kind of thing.”

Kappy sighs, a long terrible thing that makes Tyson regret even breaching the subject. “I think Wills tried to tell him, that he wanted to spend Christmas with everyone he loved and that included me, why it included me. But Michael’s just.

“Maybe he’s not even homophobic, maybe he’s just trying to shelter him and thinks if neither of them says it loud enough, then Willy won’t be a gay guy in a league that already doesn’t like him.” Kappy says with a shrug and drapes the dishtowel over his shoulder, “All I know is Willy asked his father to be here, and he’s not.” He ends it all with a shrug and it would almost be believable if his shoulders weren’t as tense as they are, bunched up painfully as they put the last things back into place.

“Well, at least he has you.” Tyson tries instead.

Kappy laughs, short and hollow. “Yeah, who needs a dad then?”

The rest of the night is spent in front of the tree, tearing their way into the millions of gifts the Kapanen’s somehow had brought with them from Finland, impeccably wrapped with handwritten nametags and always containing something that brought a smile to Willy or Kappy’s lips.

The Barrie’s weren’t big on gift-giving and tried to limit themselves to one present per person that was often opened simultaneous so they didn’t have to wait around and waste time that could be spent on something more productive.

Tyson has tried not to follow in his family’s footsteps. He puts a lot of love and care into buying his presents, wrapping them nicely when the salesperson doesn’t offer to do it for him, and even on occasion is known to send out thank you notes when the gifter is someone he’s not currently in contact with.

So when they reach the tenth gift and they’ve still not made a dent in the mountain underneath the tree, Tyson hates the twinge of conditioned annoyance he feels when Willy takes his time opening one of his presents from Kappy; careful fingers lifting the tape and folding the paper away with slow hands to reveal a watch that looks very much like the one he’s currently wearing.

“Kas, you shouldn’t have.” He says softly, eyes alight as he pulls it from the box and wraps it around his wrist just above the other, “You even got the colour right, _babe_.”

Kappy rolls his eyes, but in the same beat curls tighter around Willy and pulls him further back into his chest. “It’s not like you can pull off the other colours with that pale skin of yours, Wills. Pasty ass.” He whispers just before kissing the side of his face.

“Kasperi! Watch your fucking mouth.” Mrs. Kapanen scolds with narrowed eyes and glances at Sami who had barked out a laugh, before directing a smile at Willy, “It’ll look lovely on you, dear. You’ve always had good taste.”

Tyson slips away at some point with the excuse that Ralph hasn’t been out in quite a while, despite the lazy guy lying contently in a pile of blankets Willy had been reluctant to give up. “Come on boy, just for a couple of minutes and then you can go back into hibernation.” Tyson says dryly before just giving up and carrying him to the elevator.

It’s a quiet night in Toronto, not unlike what they had back in Denver. But there’s still too many people on the street, the lights too bright and the cars too fast to fully complete the illusion.

But for a second, dog in hand and scrolling through Junior’s dumb videos with the other, it feels like he’s back in Colorado, walking Zoey for Gabe who gets whiny later on in the evening and will do anything to convince someone else to do it for him.

There’s a video from Kerf wishing him a merry Christmas, the camera switching to JT who mutters a deadpan, “It’s chrismin,” clearly unamused by the entire situation, followed by Josty yelling, “Merry Chrysler!” before he turns sharply and skates down a public rink in shitty skates and ice that doesn’t seem familiar. He itches to screenshot it and send it off to the vets’ chat to ask Gabe why the fuck their rookies are corrupting his.

But there’s something about the way Kerf looks at the boys, something soft and light and sweet that he can’t remember him looking like since they left for Toronto. Because maybe this video wasn’t meant for Tyson to make fun of, to complain to Gabe and Nate and EJ about. Maybe it was made with something bigger in mind, something that isn’t Tyson’s to share.

Instead he snaps a picture of Ralph clearly tired of his walk, resting his paws on Tyson’s shoes and staring at him soundly until they turn back towards Willy’s.

(Christmas Tree ) (Christmas Tree ) (Christmas Tree )

_Don’t let Junior talk you into during something I  
wouldn’t do _

_… _

_Sometimes I think you’re just trolling for mean girls  
quotes _ (Face With Rolling Eyes ) (Nail Polish )

_Don’t be silly Kerf_

_We’re way past October and your hairs wayyy  
too flat for secrets _

_It is a Wednesday tho_

_… _

_Tys says hi, JT explicitly says he doesn’t. _

_I’ll see you in a few days_

Zach and his wife are there when he gets back, dressed beautifully in blue sweaters and matching smiles that almost hurt his teeth from how good they look together.

Tyson doesn’t really spend a lot of time with the partners and wives of the Leafs given that he doesn’t really have an in to the group, but Zach’s wife seems genuinely nice as she takes the seat between Tyson and Mrs. Kapanen and cedes Zach to the tangle of limbs Kappy and Willy have become, somehow effortlessly feeding into their madness.

The presents are still far from done, but the itching in his legs has stopped, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he’s somewhere else; somewhere a bit closer to home.

. . .

The Leafs spend New Year’s in a small bar in Minnesota that none of them has ever been to before and probably won’t be coming back to.

It’s not a bad place, the beer on tap seems fine and the staff is friendly if not at least polite and the patrons don’t mind them, but it’s very obvious that whoever had recommended the place had never been there themselves.

EJ laughs when he forwards the address and sends back a string of emojis that even Mitch just shrugs helplessly at. “I don’t know man, could be a death threat but also very likely a come-on.” He says uneasily, head cocked and fingers white from gripping the phone, “Fuck, I think it’s the peach that’s fucking me up. I didn’t even know you could use it like that.” 

But the guys are in good spirits, and that seems to be all that matters.

It’s close to midnight when Tyson notices Mitch sitting by himself at the bar. He has a beer in one hand, sipping it idly while he scrolls through his phone, but his eyes are nowhere near his hands and instead trained on a beautiful blonde at the other end on the bar.

“You might want to find someone else,” Tyson tells him neutrally and slides onto the stool next to him. “She looks pretty busy.”

Mitch flinches back hard enough that the stool wobbles under his weight. The beer spills over the bar and soaks his phone in what’s probably going to be the most expensive 5-dollar beer he’s ever had.

“What? I’m not –“ Mitch cuts himself off and stands up, scrubbing his pants with the paper napkin that just crumbles under the pressure and turns to pieces. “It’s nothing. I was just, thinking about the break, that’s all.”

Tyson’s just about to rip him a new one, because Mitch had been ecstatic when hockey had returned after the brief three-day break. And then the girl laughs, throwing her head back in a pretty arch that almost seems natural, and Tyson could almost understand why Mitch seemed so hung up on her, if her move hadn’t revealed the guy she was talking to.

The guy who was very much their teammate, and very obviously the one Mitch had been staring at now that Tyson adjusts his view.

“Mitchy,” He says softly, slumping down in his seat.

“No, don’t look at me like that.” Mitch hisses back. He shrugs off his hoodie and drapes it over his lap like the damage isn’t already done and turns to order another beer. “I was just looking, okay? It’s understandable to be curious when your friend wheels a girl. You have to like, make sure he doesn’t fuck up.”

“Just, please don’t talk like that.” Tyson winces and exhales through his nose. “Wheeling girls? Fucking hell, Mitch. How would you feel if someone said your dad wheeled your mom back in the day? And making sure he doesn’t fuck up? You better be talking about the assault charges and not how the girl looks, buddy.”

Mitch half-shrugs but looks suitably chastised.

“But, that’s not what we were talking about, was it.” Tyson sighs and goes to drain the last bit of drink in his glass. “It’s fine if you weren’t looking at the girl, Mitch. I was just surprised, that’s all, look your little heart out. I just didn’t want you to be sitting by yourself, but I can move if you’d rather be alone.”

Mitch inhales sharply and swivels around on the stool, “I’m not gay, you know.”

Tyson shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. He’s dealt with his share of sexuality crises; he doesn’t need Mitch’s being added to the pile.

“I’m not,” he continues, mirroring Tyson’s shrug somewhat unconsciously with his eyes still on the dripping beer, “But like – you’re not going to say this to anyone, right? Like, not even Alex? I know you’re tight and shit, but –“

“Kerf’s a jerk, I would never let him in on any secrets.” Tyson assures him soundly, “He doesn’t even like gossip, doesn’t wanna hear it if it doesn’t come straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Mitch squints at that, like he hasn’t heard the saying before and doesn’t quite know what to make of it. But he seems to take it as it, sighing defeated. “So, like I said: I’m not gay. But sometimes we, you know. Help each other out.”

“Help each other out?”

“Yeah, like back in Juniors. If either of us is having a hard time, striking out real bad, or like stressed about a game and you need, like an outlet for it.” He elaborates, voice faux-casual but he’s speaking so fast he almost stumbles over the words. “We don’t always do the soft stuff, like kisses and shit, but.” Mitch shrugs.

Tyson blinks owlishly because he does not follow any of this. But Mitch doesn’t seem done. “But?” He prompts.

“I don’t – it just feels different lately.” Mitch says neutrally. “Like, we’ve been texting a lot, and before he left for Arizona, he kissed me. So I just thought maybe we were going to kiss tonight, I don’t know. I mean, it’s only us guys here and they’re probably cool with it. And there’s that wack thing about New Year’s kisses that people always hype up. But it seems sweet, you know? And I kinda wanted to do that.”

Tyson looks back at the couple, the arms around the blonde and her slightly unruly ponytail that definitely wasn’t that messy before, how they’ve strategically moved into the shadows that might have hidden them from everyone but Tyson and Mitch. “I –“

Mitch grunts, “I know it’s not going to happen, obviously.” He rolls his eyes, palming a handful of nuts the bartender had left them. “But sometimes it’s nice to dream, you know? Think about what might happen if everything went your way, and you could just. Be.”

Tyson really doesn’t mean to snort, but.

Mitch squawks indignantly and jams a foot into his shin, making Tyson wobble on the already too tall bar stool. “Hey! Keep it up and I won’t offer to be your New Year’s kiss.”

Mitch laughs and looks delighted, jumping off the stool and squeezing Tyson one last time before he leaves him for Tavares, tucked away in a corner having what seems to be a very serious conversation with Zach.

“Don’t just fucking leave while I’m propositioning you, heathen!” He yells after him. He side-eyes Freddie who’s been sitting alone at the bar the entire night sipping the same shitty beer as he does back in Toronto, “Do you want me to extend the offer to you too? You might be more in my age range anyway.”

“I mean you can definitely try.” Freddie says soundly, holding his gaze as he takes another long sip of his beer. “Not sure how it’s going to work out for you, though.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Tyson spits out disgusted, “I’m gunna find Kerf. He at least has some degree of Tyson appreciation. See how you like it when this entire party is dead because you miss me!” 

. . .

Despite their hard-fought effort to suck and ruin whatever plans Dubas had of a cup run, the Leafs enter the new year with a record of 13-4-1 under Keefe.

None of them says anything sappy like how they feel like an entirely new team after the coaching change, or how the shift in energy is almost tangible and has made them more excited to play Leafs hockey once again. But even Tyson can feel the team becoming a bit more cohesive under their tentative success, pushing themselves more and holding each other accountable in a way that had been non-existent in October.

It’s a bit more like being back on the Avs where every post-game was spent with Nate analysing and going over their flaws and shortcomings with a fine-tooth comb until the only guys sticking around was him and Gabe – one for the sake of the jokes, and the latter out of necessity – and whoever thought they had fucked up bad enough to warrant this.

Tyson almost misses one of Nate’s sessions of dissecting their offence and how they might improve their 5-on-5 play when Freddie chews him out for a second time in a week. He’s very Scandinavian about it, polite and underhanded as he vaguely mentions how he would’ve liked to have some help in the third working overtime to block shots to keep them in the lead.

“I know everyone’s doing their best,” He says bashfully, which is how they know they’ve really fucked up. “But sometimes it would be nice if one of you would stay at the blue line, so you don’t have to haul ass whenever we turnover the puck.”

With the All-Star captains revealed at the end of last year – Tyson so fucking proud that Nate once again had been the central’s pick – and the rest of the rosters at the start of January, Tyson hadn’t really given much thought to the game.

Through his years with the team, the Avalanche hadn’t been a particularly popular team, so more often than not they just sent Nate off and called it a job well done. It made for a nice trip to somewhere warm with EJ and Gabe and drinking more compressed in three days than they had for most of the season.

Gabe and Mikko suddenly being acknowledged as good players and therefore allowed to dip their toes in the forbidden pool of excessive media and making friends with guys you usually tried to avoid, hadn’t changed much for him and EJ who had instead invited Colin and Barbs to come with them.

EJ sends him his ticket mid-January to a resort in Florida.

The hotel looks nice with a pool and spacious rooms which means they’ll probably just share on, and a surprisingly short walk to Disney World. He doesn’t say much when Tyson asks about their itinerary, fully denies any place where it isn’t socially acceptable to be drinking during daytime, but EJ’s never denied having loose morals, and getting day-drunk at Disney doesn’t actually sound half bad.

Gabe is still up for the last man in ballot, and despite his reluctancy at giving up his one free weekend of the year, the media team is set on him going – Tyson is forwarded the emails kindly explaining Gabe why they have to get him through, how the Avalanche is in a delicate position of maybe expanding their fanbase and that this would be a home run, didn’t he understand?

Maybe it’s for the best, Tyson thinks. A week spent in a hotel room in the hot Floridian air with only EJ as their buffer doesn’t seem like the best idea for his sanity.

The Leafs have a couple of games left before the break and with only one of them being a divisional rival and another two against Jersey and Chicago, they’re allowed to ease a bit off the gas. Which is why it doesn’t really make sense when Morgan dives in front of the net and blocks a shot when they’re up two goals in the third and Freddie is having a Vezina worthy night.

It doesn’t look good when he slumps to the ice, the trainers hurrying after him while the Leafs circle him loosely, partially orbiting in case he needs a lift off the ice, partially to shield him from the cameras that seem to be everywhere when you don’t need them to be.

Rielly is led down the tunnel and doesn’t return for the rest of the night. They let in a goal after the faceoff and it stings bitter with irony. But Willy who’s been nothing short of amazing for them these past months, taps one home to restore the lead and secure them the win.

It turns out that Morgan’s sudden injury has unforeseen consequences that affect Tyson in more direct ways than the team losing its best defenceman.

Maybe it was naïve to think that the NHL didn’t have better things to do than selecting a new defenceman to represent the league in the All-star game, even more so that the Leafs wouldn’t have fought for one of their own to be sent in Morgan’s stead – Gabe’s email is suddenly very clear in his mind – or that Muzz would leave his nine months old daughter in favour of sending a shitty weekend in St. Louis of all places they could have had the game in.

So when his agent call later that night, the All-Star game is the last thing on his mind.

“Could you – Tyson, fucking hell. Please shut up, you’re not traded.” His agent says, sounding painfully tired. “They just, Christ. They want you to replace Rielly in the All-Star game.” 

“But I have plans,” Tyson replies promptly, blunt and clearly not in the right mindset. “We were going to Disney World.” He adds a bit more subdued as the revelation sets in, because of course you don’t tell the Toronto Maple Leafs no when you’re a pending free agent with a shitty season as his most recent one.

Craig sighs making him sound more fed-up than usual. “How about this? You go to St. Louis now and make nice, and then you can go o fucking Disney World when you’ve won the cup. With the Leafs, I might even be able to get you a paid trip if you go full Phil Simms on it.”

So Tyson packs his carryon and a few too many suits, sends EJ a quick text that he might want to transfer his ticket to someone else, and gets on a plane with Freddie and Mitch to the exotic coats of Missouri.

It’s not the ideal location for an All-Star game, is Tyson’s first thought when he steps onto the red carpet for interviews. The weather is shitty and excessively cold making everyone look ridiculous in their oversized jackets paired with fancy suits. The hotel they had briefly been introduced to looked sturdy rather than the luxurious pictures Nate always came home with elaborate rooms with spacious pools and gorgeous palm trees.

It reminds him a little bit too much of Colorado before the snow season, cold and dark and not at all suited for an entertainment event, despite their recent cup run.

The media bit isn’t terrible. There’s a few too many questions about the beginning of the season and how everything changed after Keefe took over, of Tyson’s game-changing and not being in the same position as when he started the season; whether he’s considering resigning with the team or what he’s looking for in his next contract.

But Tyson a small fish in a pond of forty other more interesting fish, and no one wants to linger on the slightly offensive defenceman with just under thirty points even if he is supposed to be a Leaf.

Tyson meets up with Nate and Gabe around dinner time and tries not to feel bitter when Cale offers him a hand and says earnestly, “It’s nice to see you again, Tyson. I really liked playing with you last season.” Like he wasn’t the main reason that keeping Tyson on the team had become redundant.

Tyson doesn’t want to ruin the night by being rude to the rookie, doesn’t resent Cale as much as the situation he put him in. But it’s tough to look at him and feel anything but the emptiness that’s been weighing him down since the trade.

“Hey man, nice to see you back on the ice.” Tyson says with a flat smile and accepts the shake with a loose hand. But Cale doesn’t seem to mind as he goes in for a hug, wrapping his arms around Tyson and patting his back with nice, warm hands. “Gotta keep it up if you wanna follow these guys and finally get us that lead over the Panthers in Calder wins, eh?”

Cale laughs and the sheer surface area of his flush is almost enough for Tyson to forget his fuck up. But Gabe’s smile is already falling into a tight grimace when he’s looking up, letting out a rough exhale that could almost be called a laugh if it wasn’t for the absolute misery written on his face.

Nate doesn’t look much better as he shuffles his way to Tyson’s side, nudging him softly until Tyson rolls his eyes, because what had they really expected of him?

It’s Freddie who methodically picks up the conversation, introducing himself to Cale and then Nate and Gabe when they seem more composed, thanking them for the extended invitation and promising he won’t stay long.

“I don’t think I would be able to keep up with Mitch and whatever he’s planned, so I really do appreciate it.” He says in that deep, band voice of his, and Tyson’s never been good at reading him, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips as he flicks through the menu.

They’re a good way into the meal, the steaks are good and watching Nate devour an entire sweet potato in one go is always fun, when Gabe who hasn’t said anything for a while slips into soft Swedish.

As if conditioned, Tyson whips his head around and is ready to tell him off, that it’s rude and he should stop being contrary just because he doesn’t have anything food to add to the conversation. But Gabe isn’t speaking for the sake of showing he can, because Freddie’s nodding along to whatever Gabe is saying, adding his own opinions in a soft proximation of the language. 

Tyson observes them with narrowed eyes, because it still seems rude to speak a language only the two of them understand. But Gabe is laughing, slapping the table and throwing his head back in pure joy, and Freddie doesn’t look far behind.

“Do you think Gabe’s funnier in Swedish?” Tyson asks, interrupting whatever hockey shit Nate was trying to pass off as polite conversation. “Like, we joke that he’s more American than EJ and everything, but English is his second language. Do you think we’re missing out?”

Nate squints suspiciously but seems to decide on humouring him, putting down his fork as he tries to construct an argument for how he probably doesn’t get a better humour just because the language is different, “It’s still Gabe, you know?”

“I think he’s very funny.” Is Cale’s clever quip as he spears a lone tomato amongst his leafy greens. “I don’t think much would change, to be honest.”

Nate doesn’t outright scoff, but it for sure looks like he wants to join Tyson in doing so. “How about his flirting, do you think that’s better in Swedish too?”

Tyson feels the rush of colour to his cheeks, but unlike the pre-teen, Tyson’s skin actually contains enough pigment to hide it. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He says coolly, “But if it’s anything like the fika thing he tried to teach Erik, then no.”

Nate stares a beat longer than really is necessary before he turns back to his plate with a shrug, “You’re the expert T-Bear.”

. . .

All the contractual events have long since finished, and the tired PR intern the Leafs had assigned them left just before dinner with sharp looks at both Tyson and Mitch.

Most of the guys had trickled off in small groups, either catching early planes home of off to bars that Tyson hadn’t made an effort to hear about. Nate had been of the former group, unknowingly booking his plane ticket before Tyson’s presence had been announced.

“You know, I could always move everything back a few days.” Nate says with a grim smile. His suitcase is packed an leaning against his legs which are already wrapped in soft cotton for the plane ride, “I mean, we have the next two weeks off, and he probably won’t mind –“

“Dogg, go see your boyfriend.” Tyson says with a sigh and waves the cab – the actual taxi Nate had ordered to the airport – to come closer. “We’ll have plenty of time in the summer. Don’t blow him off just because I’m stuck in fucking St. Louis with Gabe for another couple of hours. Keep me in your thoughts, but off you go.”

Nate still doesn’t look happy, but Tyson manages to nudge him into the car easily enough and slams the door shut with a well-timed tap on the roof that sends it hurrying down the street.

“So salad-boy. Let’s find somewhere that serves minors.” He announces to the small group of people who apparently couldn’t find anything better to do, wrapping an arm around Cale’s shoulder as they start to move. “Everyone deserves a shit for enduring that mess of a game.”

“I am actually 21, you know.” Cale says good-naturally and stays underneath his arm with an ease Tyson can’t remember any of the rookies ever possessing. “I’m from October 1998, so it’s been a couple of –“

“No, no. Please don’t tell me when you were born,” Tyson says with a wince, recoiling to the side until there’s at least a few metres between them. “I can literally feel the youth draining with you standing this close to me, please don’t remind me of it too.”

Cale despite being months past 21 doesn’t hold his alcohol very well.

He’s not messy or embarrassing or anything like Tyson was when he was drinking at sixteen, coming home past his bedtime and staring down Lenny Barrie barefaced and hoping he wasn’t grounded for more than a month. He doesn’t puke despite the slightly greenish tint that he turns when Gabe tries to feed him something from the bar’s subpar menu, but he does sway on his feet when they pull him outside for some fresh air.

“Do you think Sammy’s up?” Cale slurs in a soft voice, and Tyson knows before even seeing the sad look on his face that they’re way past the point when Cale should have been home and in bed. “He won’t mind anyway, you think? I just miss him so much.”

Gabe starts gathering up his stuff, saying a quick goodbye to the guys as he reaches for the jacket Cale had brought, and for a second has to focus really hard on not doing anything pathetic like whining or actually cry at the prospect of Gabe leaving. But Tyson has plenty of experience with turning pain inward, so he downs his glass and instead makes a quip about Gabe’s parental instincts that earns him nothing but a glare.

And then Freddie who never stops saving the night, gets up from the table and shrugs on his jacket. “I can take him home, if you don’t mind.” He offers neutrally with his eyes firmly on Gabe, “I did play almost an entire shift tonight, and I could use the sleep.”

“Not that it helped much,” is somehow what slips out of Tyson’s mouth instead of the immense gratitude he feels, earning him the steady gaze that speaks of nothing but the massive favour he’s doing him right now, “I mean, no one expected anything more – that’s not better huh?”

Gabe looks conflicted as he stands up to help Cale into his outerwear, “That’s, thanks man. But you don’t have to cut your night short because the kid got drunk on my watch.” There’s a tight smile on his lips and he’s shaking his head softly at the mumbling boy in his arms, but Tyson knows he probably doesn’t mind this. Gabe’s been ready for a kid since they put that C on his chest and told him to look out for the tense, over-competitive rookie with little to no social skills, who was also somehow going to save the team.

But Freddie didn’t have an army of younger siblings and the burden of an entire hockey team on his shoulders for nothing. “It’s fine Gabriel, I’m going back anyway.” He says kindly and steps in smoothly, taking most of Cale’s wavering weight and nudges Gabe back into his seat with a quick smile. “It was nice to meet you, all of you. I hope to see you again sometime in June, but other than that, have a nice summer.”

They leave with a quick goodbye, Fred leading them out as Cale keeps chattering with Sammy’s voicemail that’s going to be full by the time he wakes up.

Which is how Tyson finds himself kissing Gabe for the fourth time in a shitty Missourian bar on the last night of the All-Star weekend.

The rest of the group has left in pieces, vague excuses and tired eyes until it’s just the two of them. Tyson’s a little bit tipsy and leaning heavily against Gabe as he talks about the team and how it hasn’t been the same without him; Nate who’s altering between withdrawn and overly invested in Burakovsky and Junior’s development, before turning non-verbal and collapsing on Gabe’s couch with Zoey draped over him.

And maybe Tyson is actually a soft boy with sappy emotions despite his hard exterior, or maybe he’s just missed this more than he had realised. Either way, he can’t really help it when he turns his head just the slightest and kisses the corner of Gabe’s mouth.

It’s just the two of them tucked away in a corner, the other patrons have been indifferent about them the entire night and that doesn’t change just because they’re now locking lips. So there’s really no reason for Gabe to stop talking and freeze up the way he does, because they’ve done this before and it really shouldn’t nothing new that Tyson wants to kiss him.

The first time they had kissed, they hadn’t been much older than teenagers. Insecure and nervous as Tyson had stolen a quick kiss before a practice, because he couldn’t keep looking at Gabe and not know what it felt like to kiss him. Gabe flustered and befuddled much like now but leaning in eagerly to cup Tyson’s face in his hands as they kissed.

Their second kiss had been a chaste excited thing in the heat of qualifying for the playoffs after years of being shit. Gabe hesitant and needy in a way Tyson hasn’t seen him since, the kiss filled with so much tenderness that Tyson’s knees had almost folded under him. Tyson hungry and urgent and with no hopes of this ever happening again, clinging to Gabe like he was going to die without him.

EJ who had unapologetically come to collect and bring them back to the room with a sharp grin, “Plenty of time for that later.”

“Tys, you don’t. What are you doing?” Gabe asks softly, his voice sounding strained. He reaches for Tyson and pushes him back just a few inches until their faces are no longer touching and Tyson can’t feel the heat of his skin anymore. “Why are you kissing me?”

“That big head of yours really is just for show, eh?” Tyson jokes but he looks pained when Tyson finally meets his eyes, jaw clenched and sad as he keeps him at bay even when Tyson tries to lean in again. “Because I want to kiss you, nerd.” He adds patiently. He captures one of Gabe’s hands in his and brings it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles gently before giving it a sharp tug.

Gabe frowns and looks ready to argue, but he doesn’t pull away when Tyson kisses his cheek, doesn’t move when he moves across his face, brushing his nose with his lips before kissing him again, soft and sweet and for an entire kiss this time.

“Do you want to kiss me or not, Gabe?” He asks finally and pulls back until they’re just sharing the same air, “Because that is what’s on the table right now. You can of course say no and maybe I’ll cry a bit, but you know me, I’ll be fine in the end. But that’s also not the question right now. So Gabe, do you want me to kiss you?”

Gabe kisses like he plays hockey, big bodies and smart as he leans in, a guiding hand on the back of Tyson’s head before he finally kisses him. It’s soft lips against his, moving confidently and just a tad wild as he runs a hand through Tyson’s hair. And there’s no way Tyson can stop the helpless whine he lets out, but Gabe’s mouth is right there to swallow it up.

It’s nothing like he remembers it feeling like, and at the same time everything he thought it would be getting to kiss him again, and Tyson’s not sure he is going to be able to stop.

At some point when Tyson’s hands are getting too obvious, and Gabe’s flush is more than just purely aesthetics, they move to shitty small bathroom he had refused to use before. Stumbling on shaky feet with Gabe’s hand in his and betting it all that someone won’t go through their things still at the table.

With anyone else, Tyson would have suggested they go back to one of the hotel rooms they so obviously have, but. Tyson isn’t sure he’s ready for waking up next to Gabe tomorrow and seeing the regret on his face, the quick mask he’ll put on to save Tyson from complete embarrassment but ultimately leads to Gabe very clearly rejecting him.

There’s a moment before they start kissing again where Gabe is just holding his hands, back against the door and looking so fucking earnest, “Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks softly and squeezes their hands gently.

Tyson doesn’t scoff but he wants to. He knows what he’s asking, and maybe he shouldn’t take advantage of that, but if Gabe is willing to give him this right now, then Tyson can deal with the fallout later.

“Yes Gabe, I’m fucking sure.” Tyson says none too nicely, but the kiss that follows is gentle, just their lips brushing against each other – like it’s their first, and not some sham in shitty St. Louis that Gabe won’t remember.

“Okay,” Gabe says in what sounds like a strangled laugh. “Fuck. Okay, Four.” He says shaking his head, and then he moves them forward, long strides with warm hands on Tyson’s hip until his back hits the opposite wall to make sure he doesn’t fall. His knees do buck, but Gabe is right there, pressed against his chest and keeping him on his feet before Gabe bends and –

Tyson scoots until his ass isn’t hanging off the sink, legs wrapped around Gabe’s waist, and his mouth at Tyson’s jaw which must be itchy as shit after almost a day without a shave, but Gabe doesn’t seem to mind, biting and sucking until Tyson is sure his voice is going to be gone tomorrow.

Tyson tips his face back up, catching his lips with his because he might die if Gabe doesn’t keep kissing him. He digs his fingers into Gabe’s waist and slips a hand underneath his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin, the muscles moving beneath it. The other hand strays to Gabe’s hair, floppy and sweaty and entirely golden in the shitty bathroom light, and Tyson can’t not tug on it, revelling in the moan Gabe lets out.

“You like that?” Tyson asks and cups his neck, and maybe it’s meant to be a bit mean, the way he squeezes his hand and tugs on the strands of hair a bit too hard. But Gabe twists in his hand and leans more into his grip, letting out a deep swallow as he breathes heavily. “Of course you do, nerd.” He lets out, choking on air as he feels Gabe’s dick rub against his thigh.

Tyson is just about to complain about the sink digging into his back, and why wasn’t Gabe the one pressed against a hard surface, when the bathroom door is slammed open.

“Tyson, are you in here? The guys said you were still at the bar but –“ Someone who sounds annoyingly familiar yells, walking into the room before stopping abruptly at the sight of them, “Oh.”

Gabe stops kissing him but stays in place, head bowed into Tyson’s neck and his arms around him shielding him from being seen. And Tyson isn’t drunk enough to get walked in on with the guy he’s in love with, nor deal with Mitchy’s problems of internalised homophobia, evident as he whips around and leaves the room quicker than he had entered.

There’s a beat where neither of them moves. Gabe stays slumped on his chest while Tyson cradles his head, fingers running through his hair. They seem to reach the point of deflation around the same time, drifting apart until Tyson has both his feet on the sticky floor and there’s at least a couple of metres between them.

“See, this is why I should have gotten a rookie.” He says neutrally, like Gabe isn’t standing in front of him with swollen lips and messy hair that entirely his fault. “Then at least I would have known what to do.”

“You had a rookie.” Gabe says making Tyson snort, “Nate!”

“Nate as sixty when we got him,” Tyson argues and lets out a yawn he hadn’t noticed making its way through. “Also he broke my leg, that dissolves any rookie-mentorship we might have had.”

“Tyson then.”

Tyson ehs and bops his head back and forth, “Junior might have been a rookie, but I got him with bad habits already. Nothing could be done to change any of that shit.”

Josty arriving in Denver, young and bushy-tailed and entirely too like Tyson for it to be a coincidence, and not even close to ready for polite company. And sure, Tyson has had the gaggle of defencemen and off forward too intimidated to go to Gabe come to him for questions, but dealing with Junior’s weird designs on JT’s – and, in retrospect, Kerf’s – heart while dealing with his still college-inspired sleeping habits had been a trip.

“You think he’s going to say anything?” He doesn’t sound – scared. But there’s an edge of something Tyson isn’t familiar with in Gabe’s voice, something that makes his stomach twist and his toes curl just thinking about what it could be.

So he shakes his head, sound and resolute. “No, that’s not Mitch. He’s just, he’s probably just panicking that other guys have sex with each other and doesn’t say no homo right after.”

“Okay,” Gabe says slowly, nodding along as he takes a hesitant step closer. “that doesn’t sound that urgent, then.”

“You would think so, eh? But apparently not everyone comes with sensitivity training and self-acceptance pre-installed like your kids.”

Gabe frowns, scrunching up his nose. “All you need is a welcoming environment and a firm hand when it comes to –“

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for the next flustered rookie with a crush on his d-partner.” At Gabe’s glare, he deflates with a sigh and leans back against the wall. “Look, I’m not saying it’s all lip service, the team is obviously great and very embracing of each other, congrats on that, Gabriel. But you have to know it isn’t something that you just do. You know how hard it was to deal with Dutchy in the end, and you had been the captain for several years at that point. And the shit with – like, there’s always gonna be someone who won’t listen, and just doesn’t fit in.

“I’m not saying the Leafs are like that, but they’re comfortable right now, they don’t seem to mind the internalised homophobia and whatever shit they pump you full of at the combine.”

And Tyson already knows Gabe won’t agree, that even deep down in the most pessimistic part of his heart, he still believes everything can be changed if you try hard enough. It’s the right thing to do for sure, but right now their situations aren’t much more alike than them playing the same sport. He’s also tired and close to thirty and can’t really find it in himself to take that discussion with guys who still see being gay as a punchline.

“Sure I can do something about the outright offences, like what’s said in the room and how they talk about stuff,” Tyson offers with a small shrug, meeting Gabe’s eyes that seem to have turned a shade sadder. “But good luck trying to tell them it’s okay wanting to hold hand with a guy.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, but it’s pained – for the team, for Tyson, for the budding repressed sexualities of the baby Leafs, or something entirely different that he can’t decipher. “So what are you going to do then?”

“Well, Gabriel. I’m going to tell him it’s okay to hold another guy’s hand of course!”

Mitch opens the door after just one knock, fast enough that he must have been waiting for someone to come to his door, but he doesn’t look surprised to see Tyson, opening the door wide to wave him through.

“So youngin,” He starts when they’ve both been silent for too long. They’re sitting on one of the beds, the one not covered by what must be half of Mitch’s wardrobe spread out onto the sheets, a half-eaten bag of chips between them. “I’m guessing you had a reason for hunting me down. You know, other than to cock block me the one time I try to have fun.”

His cheeks flush, but Mitch doesn’t look up from toying with his phone. “You didn’t have to come.”

“And yet here I am anyway, so how about we cut the shit and figure out what’s bothering you?”

Mitch makes the effort to stay quiet for at least another minute before he breaks, sighing dramatically as he lets himself fall back onto the bed. “I slept with someone.”

“I would say congrats, but I’m guessing it wasn’t your first time.” Tyson offers plainly, rolling his eyes when Mitch scoffs. “You never know with the younger generations, virginity is a construct and all that. There’s nothing wrong with not having sex until you’re twenty.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“You think three years make any real difference? But let’s pin that for a second. I’m guessing I’m here because it was a guy you slept with?”

Mitch nods, so Tyson nods in return. “That’s great. I’m happy for you, Mitchy. Gay sex is wonderful and –“

“That’s not.” Mitch says, cutting him off. His fingers are fidgeting, and Tyson has to place his hand on his shins to keep his feet from bouncing, but he looks oddly calm. “I have had sex with guys before. It’s just, it was with someone, you know, here.”

“So another player then, alright.” Tyson says, drawing out the last word a bit too long. “Yeah, I’m not sure that makes a difference, dude.”

“No but like, it wasn’t just sex?” Mitch says vaguely, barely shaking his head. “What if he wanted to, you know, date me? Be my boyfriend, that kind of stuff.”

Tyson nods, a slow, unsure motion as he stares at Mitch, “Riiight.”

Mitch must pick up on his scepticism because he rolls his eyes and kicks at Tyson’s thigh. “He’s not fucking crazy, stop looking at me like that. We were together back in juniors, nothing fancy or anything, and it was kinda messy. But I loved him, you know?”

Tyson doesn’t know. He had spent his formative years in Kelowna finally out of his father’s sight and not even close to interested in a steady relationship. But the way Mitchy looks right now, soft and fond and vulnerable but obviously so happy about it, makes him think he might have missed out.

“It wouldn’t be like a normal relationship, but he gets how it is.” Mitch says with a shrug, “How much of a pain the distance is, the flakiness and shit. Not wanting to do anything in April, because there’s something else you should be doing.” Mitch lets out a shirt laugh, tucking his feet underneath Tyson’s thigh. “And like, Matty obviously doesn’t want that, so I shouldn’t wait around, right?”

Tyson tilts his head back, so he won’t see him wince. “No, you should definitely not wait around for someone who’s just using you for sex. You deserve more than that, Mitch. But maybe you should consider your feeling before jumping into this. Like, is it fair to be in a relationship with this guy if you’re still hung up on someone else?”

Mitch draws in a quick breath, loud and abruptly and enough to startle Tyson back to looking at him. “I’m not, that’s. What I’m feeling for Matts, doesn’t affect what I’m feeling for Chu – for this guy.”

“Okay, if you’re sure of that, then I trust you.” Tyson says, reasonably as ever. “As long as you don’t keep thinking about the what-ifs and what could have happened.”

“But it wouldn’t. “Mitch says, low but fierce. “Matt’s not, it would never be a relationship for him.”

“Then I say go for it. If you’re into the guy, then why not at least try it out?”

Mitch smiles, a wide easy thing. He moves up the bed until he’s resting against the headboard next to Tyson, head on his shoulder and one of his legs slung over Tyson’s. “How uh, how would it work out? Like the shit we did was back in juniors, but everyone fucks around then, so like.” He does something weird with his hands that Tyson doesn’t really get, reaching out and drawing them down to their legs.

And literally anyone else would be better at answering this, because Tyson is notoriously bad at planning and even worse at maintaining relationships. “I don’t know, Mitchy. I think you just figure it out as you go. Find out what works for you and your guy, maybe tell a few people so you’re not entirely on your own with it, but other than that? I think you should just go for it.”

“Tell people? That’s, wow. That’s maybe a bit –“

“I’m not saying right away if that’s not for you,” Tyson interrupts calmly. He puts his arm around Mitch’s shoulders and pulls until they’re sitting impossibly closer, Mitch a line of heat against his chest. “But there are guys out there in the same situation, so obviously you can tell someone without the world ending.”

“Like uh, you and Landeskog?” He asks softly, moving down until he’s resting more on Tyson’s chest than shoulder, “Props to you bud, that’s a good-looking man.”

Tyson rolls his eyes, because you would be blind not to notice how Gabe looks, even in shitty lightning and with his shirt untucked. He ignores the way his chest slightly puffed out at the thought of Mitch thinking he’s dating Gabe, his heart preening at just the possibility of it, but. “No, ah, Gabe and I – we’re not. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want me that way.”

Mitch frowns, “Are you sure? Because he looked pretty –“

“Yeah, we’re so not talking about this.” He says with a firm shake of his head. “My point is, there are couples out there that have made it work in the league, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out too.”

“Well, at least I’ve told you.” Mitch says after a moment of silence, eyes falling close as he gets increasingly heavier on Tyson’s chest.

“Yeah, Mitchy. At the very least you have me.”

Tyson doesn’t look at his phone before they’re already in the air.

With Tyson falling asleep in the wrong bed, and Mitch not setting an alarm, they had been in quite a hurry to get everything ready before Freddie came by with coffee for the ride to the airport.

There’s a call from Gabe when he finally looks, sitting innocently between calls from Willy and Craig which probably should be way more ominous than the text from Gabe that had followed closely.

_Call when you’re up, please!_

He thinks about calling when he’s back in Toronto, sitting on the couch with Ralph in his lap and Kerf grumbling quietly from the chair as they watch another episode of The Bachelor.

But it seems stupid to call him just to be let down, and Tyson doesn’t want Gabe’s rejection tarnishing the kiss for him. So he leans back in the couch, kicks out a foot until he’s at least touching Kerf, and holds Ralph just a little bit closer.

. . .

True to recent tradition, the Leafs make the playoffs.

With a lot of their games having been played in the fall, the few they have left after the trade deadline suddenly count for a lot more than usual. But with the Atlantic still being a weird mixture of top contenders and team eligible for Lafreniére, they sneak past to a comfortable third seat.

The reaction to not playing the Bruins is mixed to say the least.

The media has been having a field day with it since Boston locked down the first divisional spot, lengthy discussions about broken traditions and missed opportunities about redemption. Even the Boston media seems dejected about their overwhelming success, writing snippy stories and unsubtle commentaries about their playoff chances without even mentioning their actual opponents.

A lot of the guys on the team are relieved that they have to play Tampa first, cheering and joking around that they’re a better team than the Jackets that had sent them packing last year. “If we give them one game though, then we can stay in Florida for the break.” Someone reasons easily enough, and despite the stink eye from certain parts of the locker room, the joke lands well with the rest of the guys.

The handful of Toronto boys in the room, however, seems sceptic about the change. Mitch especially finds it hard that they won’t have to battle it out in TD Garden. “It doesn’t seem right, you know?”

“It’s the playoffs, Mitchy. You don’t get to decide who you’re playing.” Tyson tries to tell him, “Besides, a bit of sun might be good for the spirit.”

“But if we don’t beat them, then it’s – we have to prove we’ve earned it,” Mitch says instead and takes another sip of his beer before he goes back to sulking. What if we win and it doesn’t go through them? What if they lose in the first round, and we’ll have to play some fucking wild card team next?”

“Well, then we’ll just have to beat the guys that beat the Bruins.”

“That’s not the same. It won’t feel the same if we don’t beat them.” Mitch argues, but he’s starting to hunch over his phone, his attention already partially stolen, so Tyson doesn’t feel too bad about leaving.

He might have lived in Toronto for more than half a year now, but he still doesn’t get most of their weird traditions and idiosyncrasies; discussing what’s the right way of winning the cup is so far down his list he doesn’t even want to think about it.

Boston or not, Leafs are still sent packing after game 7.

It’s not even a blow-out loss, a decent goal differential with a few bad ones going in behind Freddie, but the man’s already been a god for most of the games, and sometimes you can’t even blame the goalie. It only makes it worse when Keefe calls his time-out just a few minutes before the buzzer to tell them that he believes in them, that they can even out the score and force overtime fi they just try a bit harder.

And then they don’t do that, and instead let them cement the lead with a neatly wrapped empty netter just as the buzzer sounds.

They’re not at home, so it’s quick enough to get off the ice and into the room. No one has anything to say, and even JT who probably should be saying something is sitting quietly next to Mitch who looks like he’s trying really hard not to cry. It doesn’t get better when Keefe joins them and gives a firm and meticulous rundown of all the ways they could have won that game, watching with sharp eyes to make sure everyone knows when he’s talking about them.

Dubas comes through the door at one point, sharply dressed in a blue suit and without his glasses tonight. He looks calm, almost serene as he leans against one of the stalls to listen to Keefe, but Tyson can see the way he’s gripping his phone, the pale knuckles and strained wrist, and knows it won’t be the last time the Leafs hear from their GM before training camp.

And then the doors are opened, and the journalists are allowed in, making it seem like the entire Toronto media has been flown out for his game, lined up outside the locker room with their phones ready and sad eyes that really speaks wonders of their supposed impartiality.

It doesn’t get much better when they’re back in Toronto for locker cleanout, and Tyson actually has to voice his feelings about the missed opportunities in a game they were never going to win, or how he, despite their recent streak of playing like an actual hockey team, doesn’t intend to resign here as a free agent.

They let him go easily enough, already knowing he won’t give them the quote they need, and with his goodbyes to the boys already over and done with – he had known before Tampa that the chances of them coming back were slim – Tyson ducks out of Scotiabank Arena with only a lone puck as his evidence that he played on the Maple Leafs.

It’s not until Kerf yells at him for the third time before disappearing into his room with Ralph under his arm, that Tyson realises he should probably be sadder about the loss.

Other than Kerf’s moodiness and short-tempered irritation, he’s barely heard from Willy and Kappy who he knows are still in town for at least another couple of weeks before leaving for Europe. Mitch had refused to answer his calls and instead reverted to his texts only using increasingly difficult to understand emojis, and the team chat he’s stayed a member of has been strangely quiet and mostly filled with Dermott sending the odd picture of his dog.

It’s not that he’s feeling particularly good about the early elimination, but there’s a clear distinction between this and how he had felt after last year’s loss to the Sharks. And for some reason he just, doesn’t really mind the Leafs losing to the Lightning.

A loss is a loss is a loss, so of course it hurt like every loss does when you’re an over-competitive professional athlete who doesn’t like facing their own vulnerability and inferiority. It hurts knowing he’s an unrestricted free agent coming off his worst season in years and a deep playoff run would probably have earned him another million or two. But there’s a dissociative feeling to it all, like it isn’t quite his loss to mourn.

On a whim, he decides to call Gabe because he’s always been good at rationalising Tyson’s feelings even when they don’t make sense to himself.

When he doesn’t pick up, Tyson moves on to spamming Nate with passive-aggressive texts about the outings he’s owed for his negligence. Until he realises, they’re probably in the middle of a game, so he follows it up with a quick, ‘_soz, good luck!!’_. 

Tyson’s coming back from a workout slash meeting with Craig to discuss his quote future, when his phone rings, shrill and unpurposefully jarring to his ears from the bedroom. He’s too busy fumbling with the ringer and condemning boomers for liking their phones obnoxiously loud, that he doesn’t get to look at the caller before he’s already said a neutral, “Hey, it’s Tys.”

There’s a beat before the other end of the call connects through, and then all at once comes a mixture of loud music, yelling and someone chanting what sounds like _‘Nate Dogg!’_.

“Um, Nate bud, do you have the right number?”

Someone whoops as the cheers get louder and there’s a distinct popping of champagne. “Don’t – Mikko, don’t choke on it, yeah? We still have a couple of games to go!” They laugh with a laugh, and suddenly Tyson isn’t in doubt about who he’s supposed to be talking with.

“Gabe? Oh, I uh, thought it was Nate calling.”

Gabe laughs, and Tyson never thought he would tire of that laugh, but. “Nah, he’s ah, pretty busy. I’m sure there’ll be pictures soon, if you feel left out.”

It’s a joke.

At least Tyson’s pretty sure it’s a shot of his and Nate’s co-dependency, but it doesn’t feel very funny as Tyson feels his heart stop beating, his stomach twisting as the sounds of celebration increases. It’s not, he doesn’t quite know how to describe it, the ugly gnawing he can feel at the thought of what’s going on somewhere in a Denver locker room.

It’s nothing like the apathy he feels about the Leafs’ elimination, nothing like the simmering rage he feels at the Avs’ previous exit; there’s a bitterness to it that feels our in his mouth, tart and entirely unpleasant as he swallows harshly.

“I uh, saw that you had called me,” Gabe starts off in a slow, patient voice, apparently deciding to ignore the part where Tyson has gone non-verbal. “It’s been a busy couple of days lately, but I’m guessing you’re calling about –“

It doesn’t make him feel aby better to hear it put like that, and suddenly it’s all way too much for him to handle. “You know what?” He says faintly as he has to sit down on the bed, sweat-soaked and shivering as he listens to the party on the other end. “Never mind, this is not. I can’t do this right now. Say congrats to the team for me, good luck in the next round.” And then he hangs up, throwing his phone into the drawer where he won’t be tempted to look at it until the morning.

Tyson can’t quite throw a tantrum when he knows Kerf is listening in the living room, probably already deep in a sext-mediated threesome with dumb and dumber who if anyone should have perfected the art of texting while having sex.

So instead he takes the longest bath he’s ever had that doesn’t involve jerking off, before he feels calm enough to go join him in the living room.

Kerf doesn’t look up from his phone and doesn’t even react when Tyson sits down on the couch with a heavy sigh. But there’s no sign of that ridiculous flush he always gets when he’s either just about to get off or post-orgasmic, so Tyson feels pretty justified in exhaling once again.

“So, you talked to Gabe then?” Kerf says painfully dull and still doesn’t look up.

“Can you believe he called me back in the middle of their celebration?!” He says with a groan and lets his head fall back in outrage. “I mean, he ignores me for days and then decides to call me up in the middle of the locker room? That’s insane.”

Kerf finally looks up from his phone. But instead of looking intrigued or even scandalised at his story, he’s squinting unattractively with his mouth slightly agape. “What did you expect him to do?”

Tyson snorts, “To not call and rub it in my face that his team and not mine made it through to the next round? You know, the decent thing to do.”

Kerf stares at him for too long and doesn’t look away even as his phone keeps buzzing aggressively. “Is that really what you thought just happened?” He asks calmly, finally blinking with a precision Tyson hasn’t seen applied to such a menial task before, “That Gabe the guy you’re in love with, and who by the way has loved you for so fucking long, called you back only to let you know that he’s better at hockey than you?”

“That’s not what I –“

“That it had nothing to do with you finally admitting that you need to talk about the All-Star game and him maybe – just fucking maybe – wanting to share his good news with the guy he loves?”

“How do you know about St. Louis?” Tyson asks instead, but it seems to be the wrong thing to say because Kerf gets up, shaking his head.

“That’s the thing you’re going to focus on?” He says unimpressed, but doesn’t stick around long enough for Tyson to get a reply in. “Whatever man. I’m here when you’re ready to act like a fucking adult.”

Tyson would like to go on the record and say he’ll never be ready to quote, act like a fucking adult.

But seeing as they live together, and Kerf is generally weak-willed with nothing better to do, he seems to be willing to at least engage in light discussions about it without Tyson making any grand confessions. At least he is until it one night blows up int their faces.

To be fair, Tyson isn’t in a great mood to start with.

Craig had been by with projected contract offers and where he could expect to sign next season, and none of them had been what he wanted, so that too had ended up with Tyson being called a child with no real aspirations to life other than his own comfort.

In his frustration and low-key fear of once again having to start his life all over, he had called up Dubas who very kindly told him that he would be glad to talk with him, but the offer probably wouldn’t be as nice as the one he was hoping for, and shouldn’t all this be going through his agent?

So when Kerf makes an offhand comment about his pettiness at the Avs’ success, Tyson is already too far into the wrong mindset and won’t take anything lying down.

“Tyson, fucking shut up, man!” Kerf screams and pushes back from the dinner table, only belatedly making sure his cutlery is secure on the plate and won’t go flying towards the floor. “You don’t even care that we didn’t make it to the next round, I don’t get why you’re so pissed about this.”

“That doesn’t mean he has to rub it in my face that they’re going to win the cup!” Tyson yells back without another thought.

“What team should win then? Because you obviously don’t feel like you’re a part of this team.” Kerf says harshly. He doesn’t move when Tyson rises to his feet, he doesn’t square his shoulder to make himself seem larger, just stands an awkward metre away from the table, staring at Tyson like he’s the one acting like a dick. “And I get that, fine. You’ve been with them for your entire career, your best friend is there, hell your boyfriend is the captain of the fucking –“

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Tyson cuts in, and it’s not fun or cute anymore, the way people assume he’s dating Gabe. And fucking Kerf, who should definitely know better.

“But you want him to be.” He says instead with a roll of his eyes. “And I should think it would make you happy about their success, but here we fucking are, eh?

“So tell me Tyson. If it’s not the team you’re forced to be on, and not the one with all the guys you love, then who should get the cup? Or should we just cancel the final this year because Tyson Barrie doesn’t feel like he belongs to a team, and his feelings can’t handle his old team winning without him?”

“Get out!” Tyson barks before he’s even through with the sentence, whipping around and storming to the kitchen. “I mean it, get the hell out of my apartment right the fuck now, Kerfoot. I’m not going to tell you again.”

Tyson stays standing until he hears the slamming of the door, and then he slides down the cabinets until his head is resting on the hard tiles cushioned only by the dishtowel he managed to unravel on his way down.

He doesn’t cry or anything dramatic like that, not that he doesn’t think about it. But there’s something oddly liberating about lying spread-eagle on the floor and staring at the ceiling, ignoring all of your problems.

Later, when Tyson has removed himself from the floor and his borderline existential crisis, when Kerf has come home and slammed the door to his room shut, making it very clear he’s still mad, and Ralph has been on his last walk of the night, Tyson crawls into Kerf’s bed and wraps himself around him.

Kerf is apparently an ‘all or nothing’-kind of sleeper, jerking awake when Tyson squeezes him too hard, and doesn’t seem very happy about being in his arms when he realises that no, neither of his boyfriends came by for a quick surprise visit.

“Freaking – Tyson, you can’t do this.” He says dully, but at the same time goes limp in his arms allowing Tyson to bully him onto his side and into a proper spoon. “Please tell me you haven’t done this before. This is so wrong; Gabe would have your fucking head if he knew you were sneaking into people’s beds like this.”

Tyson squeezes him tighter and rests his head on Kerf’s shoulder, “Please, I would let go if you wanted me to. But I guess we need to talk, and I would like it if I don’t have to look at you while we do it:”

“You’re so fucking ridic – and we couldn’t just have this conversation on the couch tomorrow?” Kerf sighs, but he doesn’t sound as cross as Tyson might have feared, almost resigned as he reaches for Tyson’s hands and gives them a quick squeeze. “You usually don’t even look at me then.”

“This is nicer though.”

“It’s also way past midnight, so you better get talking, Bear.”

Tyson butts his head against Kerf’s, gentle and careful not to make it hurt, and then says very quietly, “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“What? Of course I can when you’re being a fucking –“

“No,” Tyson whines. He tightens his grip when it feels like Kerf is about to turn around and slots his foot in between one of his, “Not when it’s the thing I’m sensitive about. And stop moving please,” He adds softer.

“You’re sensitive about everything, Tyson.” Kerf snaps back, “And literally how? You’re a fucking furnace, and I’m losing water by the litre over here.”

“Tysons run hot, you know that.” Junior had always been the sweatiest guy on the team, coming off the ice drenched with red cheeks and rumbled hair. It had come to the point where he was banned from using grey clothes for workouts because they would look soaked through by the second rep.

“This is different though. Like I know I’m in the wrong and all, and I get that it might be frustrating with me not really feeling like I’m a part f the team when you obviously have to.” Tyson says softly, “But I’m working on it, okay? And of course, I want them to do well, I just wish they could have done it with us.

“It sucks feeling like this, not knowing where I’ll be next year and then having to watch them do everything right, feeling bitter at something you know should feel good, because I do love them. I do want them to win the fucking thing even if we’re not on the damn team. But at the same time, I also really don’t want them to win a cup without me, you know?”

Kerf wrestles free of his arms to Tyson’s great despair, and instead turns around so they’re lying face to face, still with very little space between the two of them. “I guess I understand some of that, but for me all of that is overshadowed by the fact that in the end, Tys and Jay will have a cup, and how can I not feel great about that?”

Tyson shrugs, moving his knees back until they’re no longer touching. “Maybe you’re just a better person than I am.”

“I doubt that.”

“Either way, I’m going to try, alright?” Tyson finally says. He flips onto his back when Kerf’s stare becomes too much, ignoring the very easy solution of just getting out of bed and going into his own room. But there’s something keeping him there other than the exhaustion suddenly taking over him, something he can’t quite put a finger on as Kerf bumps his side, moving to get his phone when it vibrates.

Kerf lets out a soft snort that sounds more amused than mocking and gets back into bed with an arm slung over Tyson’s stomach. “Well, you better get your accepting pants on because they’ve just moved on to the conference final, and with the way Nate’s been playing, there’s no way anyone’s stopping him now.”

. . .

So, the Avalanche move on to the third round, and Tyson pretends he’s not dying whenever Kerf insists on having a game on in the living room.

They’re playing good hockey, a far cry from anything they’ve ever produced with Tyson on the ice. The passes are connecting, toddlers they’re paying pennies to play D for them seems to have everything figure out, and Junior who despite the rough season he’s had, looks to be throwing his hat in for the Conn Smythe vote.

They look like an actual cup-contending team, and it certainly is making him feel some sort of way.

Kerf seems to be equally affected, leaving the room at odd times and not coming out until his loud, horrible music already has done irreversible damage to Tyson’s ear. He’s already caught him looking up plane tickets to Denver at least twice, and with the carryon suddenly making an appearance again, Tyson doesn’t think it’s going to be long before he’s off trying what it feels like to have sex in person for the first time in his life.

Other than all of the painful Avs content he gets at home Tyson is somehow still following them on twitter. It had been a big deal back in September, trying to decide if it would be more dramatic to unfollow them after the trade or have the occasional like pop up on people’s timeline every now and again.

But with his friends being flaky as shit and Tyson still feeling nostalgic about the team and whatever stupid shit they liked to do on camera, he had decided it would be worth the wrath of the Leafs if they somehow found out.

So when one of Gabe’s post-game interviews pops up with him looking flushed and sweaty in that burgundy shirt that really shouldn’t work with his complexion but somehow does, Tyson can’t help but at least flick through it.

It’s obvious a road game, the stalls are wrong and there’s a faint shouting of the bus times in the background, the guy talking is obviously not a part of the Denver media core, and Tyson is just about to close down the interview because there is no way in hell he’s going to listen to Gabe talk about the difference between this season’s success and their run from last year, expect –

“Well obviously we have a good team this year. Nate always comes out to play for us, and the new guys have really made an impact, Andre especially have turned things around.” Gabe says with a voice rough from shouting at the refs. He runs a hand through his hair and pops a hat onto his head to keep it back.

“Last year was, we were a different team then. A lot of the guys were drafted by the team and we went through a lot together, so obviously you want to win together.” Gabe says earnestly, and the look in his eyes makes Tyson’s heart clench. He clears his throat, “But I mean, this is an entirely different season, and I don’t think you can really point to one thing and say, that’s what changed for us, you know?”

There’s more, people asking increasingly hurtful questions about the polishing of their D-core, about he centre depth which really shouldn’t work as well as it does, Gabe’s opinion on the Blue’s early exit, but Tyson’s already dialling Gabe’s number.

It’s at least noon in Denver, but Gabe sounds bone-tired when he picks up the phone. “Hi, it’s Gabe. What’s up?” He says on the backend of a yawn, sheets rustling in the background as he sits up.

“I thought you were supposed to be resting up for the game tomorrow, not sleeping the day away, captain.”

Gabe chuckles but it’s really just air blowing out of his nose, “And leave Nate to do drills all on his own? Hard pass there, Four. And besides, I can always do with a bit more time on the ice.”

“Sure, it’s not like you were out considerable time with a bum leg or anything.” Tyson adds, rolling his eyes. “Also, your team is literally leaking rookies, send one of them with him. They probably need all the help they can get falling asleep when you’re in, you know. The playoffs.”

“I mean who doesn’t, eh?” Gabe says softly.

Gabe always was the worst sleeper before big games, staying up too late and drinking too much coffee at breakfast the next morning. It had gone far enough that Colin had offered to fix him up a quick bowl before a game, but despite his cool demeanour and outlandish support of pop culture, Gabe was still skittish about weed.

Tyson had tried a little bit of everything in their endeavour of trying to get Gabe to fall asleep at a reasonable time, until he gave up and just collapsed next to him in. It had been very anticlimactic then, to turn around sometime later and find Gabe sound asleep, having talked himself to sleep while Tyson ignored him trying to come up with new ideas.

Tyson hums.

Neither of them mentions the last time they talked as they go over whatever pleasantries they both find utterly boring but are too polite to skip. Tyson won’t apologise for his feelings, even if they are ridiculous at times, and Gabe obviously doesn’t need an explanation from him. It doesn’t make it any easier making the transition into what they really need to talk about.

“So,” Tyson says, the furthest thing from confident but at least Gabe can’t see him curled up on the couch, “Obviously we need to talk about what happened in St. Louis. I mean, you already know how I feel about you, so that should be –“

Gabe snorts, “Tys, come on.”

“What? You obviously, do.” He replies indignantly. “I was the one to start the kissing, I nearly had to beg you to kiss me. So of course you know how I feel about you.”

“You’ve kissed a lot of people, Four.” Gabe says in a hesitant voice. It doesn’t sound like an accusation, not how Dutchy made it sound when he still had a foot to stand on in the room. From Gabe it just sounds like he’s stating the fact plainly, putting it out there so they’re both on the same page. And Tyson isn’t sure how he feels about that. “You’ve kissed most of the team on multiple occasions, and you’re always off smooching Nate.”

“He’s in a committed relationship! That doesn’t count.”

“You wanted to kiss Cale to congratulate him on making it to the big leagues when he was called up last year.” Gabe counters with a laugh.

“It was a good luck kiss! Who knows what would have happened if he’d accepted?”

“You were also drunk when you kissed me, Four, and then you didn’t mention it again.” Gabe adds a bit more solemn. “Not that you’ve been calling a lot lately, but you just ignored it. What was I supposed to think?”

Tyson whines because this wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. 2You know that they say, a drunken man’s actions are a sober man’s thoughts.”

Gabe inhales sharply. “Please don’t tell me you believe that.”

Tyson rolls his eyes and focuses on projecting it over the phone, so Gabe knows he’s being ridiculous, “Yes Gabriel, I know about informed consent, it was a joke. I’m sorry I cover up my insecurities with humour, it’s a problem of mine. You know, like not being able to talk about my feelings sober.

“Also, let’s not put all of this on me,” He continues with a sharp voice, “How was I supposed to know you liked me back? Like, at least I kissed you. You didn’t do shit about it.”

Gabe laughs, and it’s loud and clear and so utterly ridiculous that Tyson almost hangs up once again. Like, fuck personal progress and achieving goals, he doesn’t need this kind of negativity in his life.

“Tys, Four. Everyone knows how I feel about you.” Gabe says softly. “The entire team knows, it’s not even a part of team gossip, it’s just. Of course Gabe’s in love with Tyson.”

He says it so calmly that Tyson almost chokes, because it does sound just like another fact to him. The sky is blue, the Earth is round, and Gabriel Landeskog is in love with him.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you already knew,” He continues in the same soft voice like Tyson’s world hasn’t just turned on its axis. “And if you just wanted to be friends, that would have been fine with me. I just want you to be happy, Four.”

Tyson’s not going disrespect their friendship by going back and reanalysing every moment they’ve had where Tyson thought he might have had a chance; ruined dates where Gabe had been quick to offer him a ride home, movie nights just the two of them when everyone else ditched them for cooler plans, because Gabe would have done that for all his friends.

But it does make his stomach feel funny thinking about all the times he would catch Gabe looking at him and wonder what kind of food was stuck to his face and how easy he could get it off, the sharp looks from EJ when he would mock a particularly long dry spell of Gabe’s.

“You really didn’t know?” Tyson asks quietly. “Even with all of those ridiculous things I’ve said about you? That didn’t give you a clue?”

Because he has said a lot of shit about Gabe, often if not exclusively in a positive light, and he’s always wondered why the social media team was allowed to continue their quest for his embarrassment when it so obviously only was a few choice questions away from him becoming the first out gay guy in the NHL.

Gabe chuckles, “You said that for the media people, Four. Never like, directly to me.”

“Of course not. I liked looking at you, and if your head grew any bigger it might have ruined that for me.”

“I’m serious, Tys. Just because you think someone’s good looking, doesn’t mean you want to fuck them. Or you know –“ Gabe says reasonably, like he’s had this argument with himself before – standing in front of the mirror trying to rationalise Tyson’s outspoken boner for him as anything but him being in love with him.

“Well, most often that is the case. I mean, if they’re inclined to that, but you know. “

Gabe scoffs. “If everyone who’s said I’m hot wants to fuck me –“

“They do but go on.”

“That’s obviously not,” Gabe says with a sigh. “I’m just saying it might be easier to find someone who doesn’t find me attractive – fuck! You know what I’m saying, Four. “

“I do.” He says with a laugh and lets his head fall back against the couch. Ralph has made his way out of the bedroom and is looking sceptically at Tyson, “But I also really want you to try and say it in a way that doesn’t make you sound obnoxious.”

Gabe exhales heavily as Tyson accepts the ball given to him by Ralph, throwing it into the kitchen and watching him run away.

“Maybe we should do this in person instead.”

“Oh, you don’t like coming of as conceited? That’s a new personal development.”

“Is that a no then? Do you want me to continue making this up as I go?” The because I can, is left unspoken but Tyson knows he could. If Gabe hadn’t put his all into hockey, he’s sure his political career would have taken off without a hitch.

“No, you’re right. Let’s meet up so we can talk like adults,” Tyson says and ignores the laugh on the other end of the phone, “I said like, I didn’t claim we were actual adults, Gabriel. A spring chicken yourself, just fresh out of adolescence and already a captain. My oh my, Landesnerd.”

Gabe snorts, and Tyson wants to continue coming up with dumb shit just to make him laugh. “Sure, Four. When would be good for you?”

“Well,” He says wryly. “I’m pretty much open for business these days. Dubas wants to meet up at one point, but my agent says to wait until July, and I don’t really see myself staying in Toronto, you know.”

Gabe makes an amiable sound. “Well uh, now isn’t a good time for me with the uh, team and us still having a few games left and all.” It’s careful the way he says it, and Tyson hates how he so obviously knows how it makes him feel.

“Right, right. No, I don’t want to disturb that, for sure.” Tyson says with a tight smile and tries not to sound too bland about the possibility about them continuing their run into June. “We could do July then?”

It would probably still feel too soon. Gabe would be miserable if they reached the final and didn’t win it, and Tyson doesn’t want to think about any other scenarios and how a conversation between them would go then.

It doesn’t matter anyway because Gabe wines audibly and says, “I’ve already booked my tickets for Sweden, actually.”

“Huh.”

“But I can do late July-August? Before training camp starts back up?”

Tyson sighs, “Nate and I are going to Europe, and like. I am probably going to have to figure out where I’m going, so.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“We could, ah. Play it by the ear then? Not anything set in stone, but maybe send a few texts when things have settled. See where the other one is at?” Gabe says reluctantly, and with good reason. It sounds vague and shitty and nothing like the setting for the conversation that Gabe had wanted to have, but they’re at a stalemate, and Tyson can’t see any other options right now.

“Yeah, that’s. Let’s do that then.” He agrees softly.

. . .

Tyson makes the mistake of accepting one of Mitch’s invitations for a final team hang out before they all leave the nest. Despite his mixed feelings about Toronto, there were some aspects of the tee team that he liked and with Willy and Kappy still in town, he can must one beer before they leave for greener pastures. Also, if he has to watch one more game of Avs hockey, he might strangle Kerf.

To his absolute horror, Mitch already has the game on when they arrive. “Might as well keep up with the league, eh?” He says with a shrug, offering them a beer. “Also, I hate it when there’s nothing on in the background.”

It seems to be getting mixed reactions from the guys, and there are even a few that beck off just before the first period ends. But Mitch doesn’t seem to care and instead plants himself besides Kerf with a glass of Red Bull that Tyson isn’t even sure has vodka in it.

“At least one of us will have someone winning in the end, eh?” Mitch says with a sigh as the Avs ties it up just before the third, “I mean, I would be thrilled for Naz but I’m sure you’re more excited for your boys.”

Tyson doesn’t remember the All-Star roster well enough to know who on the Flames warrants that kind of smile from Mitchy, shaking his head as he watches Gaudreau miss the net behind Frankie. “You want Calgary to win it then?” He asks instead and tires to seem casual as he sips his drink.

“Of course, Chuck – um. They’re a great team, and rather them than someone in the East, you know?” Mitchy says with a scoff and a bitter smile. “I played with some of their guys and they deserve it, you know? Not that the Avs don’t, but it would be great to see him hoist it.”

Tyson frowns and turns his head away from the screen to watch Mitch watch the game instead. “Even if it’s not with you? Like, doesn’t that make you feel weird knowing hell have won it but not you?”

Mitch snorts, “Sure but like. Why does that matter? I –“ He lowers his voice and looks around suspiciously, but it’s really only Kerf – who’s too engaged with the game to even accept the offer of a beer – the clutter of rookies getting high on the balcony, and the Europeans camping out in the kitchen that are left. “Of course I want him to win, he’s my, you know. Boyfriend. Even if I’m not the one winning it with him, he’s still the number two guy I want to win it.”

“But don’t you think it would still be weird? Like, wouldn’t it change something between you guys, him winning the cup this year?”

Mitch shrugs, like that’s an actual answer. When Tyson doesn’t say anything else, he turns to him with a frown, mouth slightly agape like he’s wondering what he missed. “I don’t think it would though.” He says carefully and pulls his legs up so he can rest his chin on his knees. “If it did, I don’t think either of us should really be in a relationship, you know? Also, it’s not like he’s winning it instead of me. Someone has to win it, and we were just shit enough to get kicked out in the first round.”

It sounds very even-keel coming out of his mouth, calmer than any of the ways their exit has been talked about since April. But Mitch looks almost normal as he says it, only his mouth is a little tight around the edges as he talks.

“Why are you asking though? I mean, thanks for the couples’ therapy but it seems a bit pre-meditated.” Tyson shrugs, “Because surely you’re not asking because you don’t want the Avs to win.” He tags on with a drawl.

Tyson winces making Mitch rolls his eyes, big and dramatic. “Now that’s fucking ridiculous.”

“I know! Fucking hell, don’t you think I know that?”

Mitch lets out a sharp laugh and downs the rest of his Red Bull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What, so just because they traded you, they aren’t allowed to win the cup?”

“Well, yeah?”

And boiled down to the essentials, that is the core of the issue.

Because Tyson had spent so fucking long giving his all to that team, only to have them kick him out of the door when someone new and cheaper came along. The trade had left him in such a shitty situation, because his entire lift had been deep-rooted in Colorado, in the team and the family they had made together.

Tyson had felt so fucking alone in those first months in Toronto, struggling to settle in and making something of a team that didn’t even have an identify yet; watching them go from bad to better to worse in a never-ending cycle that did nothing but tear on his psyche.

And now Tyson was supposed to just stand by and watch them win a cup with a team that was little to no different than the one they had last year? No fucking way.

“But your teammates didn’t trade you,” Mitch says softly, frowning slightly. “Nate didn’t choose you couldn’t be a part of the team anymore, Josty didn’t trade you, and despite whatever lies you’ve been telling yourself, Landeskog definitely didn’t want you to stop being his teammate.”

He jostles their shoulders together making Tyson push back as a reflex, easing up on the force behind it so they’re just rocking side to side instead. “I would mention more of them, but I literally don’t know who else is on the team. But does it really matter? They didn’t trade you, their GM did. They probably wish you could play with them right now, and I bet they would have been real happy if you were the one in the conference final even if they weren’t.”

Tyson chokes on a laugh, “What the fuck, Mitchy.”

Mitch shrugs but doesn’t try to hide his smug smile. “Don’t look so surprised Barrie. Talking about your feelings is like, kindergarten level of problems. Don’t make it more complicated than it is, just cheer for your guys on the ice, and forget everything else.”

Tyson exhales deeply and turns to the television just in time to see Josty put one in behind Rittich. “Alright, Mitchy. I’ll see what I can do.”

. . .

Tyson is lying on his couch, not quite sulking but definitely not _not_ sulking, when Kerf comes into the living room looking determined.

“Hey, we still need to figure out if you want to take over this place next year –“ Tyson starts to say, trailing off when he notices the carryon by his side, stuffed full and ready to burst. “Oh, I didn’t know you were already leaving. I thought we were going to fly out together.”

Kerf exhales deeply, almost annoyed, and shifts his leg over to reveal another suitcase looking oddly familiar but similarly packed. “… I mean, thank you? But I think I need a bit more than that for the summer.”

“We’re not going to BC,” Kerf says with a firm voice and throws something on the table, “I called your mom and she seemed fine with taking Ralph a bit earlier. So we’ll leave him with Mitch, and she’ll pick up on her way back from –“

Tyson’s not really listening as he leans forward to pick up the tickets. “Did you seriously print these out just to throw them at me?” He snorts and throws them back at him, watching them sway in the air before settling on the ground.

Kerf frowns but doesn’t move to pick them up. He turns to glare at Tyson as if he hadn’t realised the drama of it all put him almost on Gabe’s level of theatrics. “It’s good practice to print out your tickets.” He says through clenched teeth and kicks them closer to the couch.

“Tell that to the trees, my dude.”

“I am not discussing climate change with you, Tyson.” Kerf says crossly, despite numerous of drunken conversations saying the opposite. “I just came to inform you that our plane will leave tonight at eight, so you have two hours before we have to be at Mitch’s with Ralph’s stuff.”

Tyson nods slowly and sits up. “I’m guessing we’re not going to talk about his, then.” He gestures vaguely to the tickets, to the bags and Ralph who has made his way to Kerf’s feet, wagging his tail happily as he gets his ears scratched. “Since you know, you booked the ticket without asking me if I wanted to come, or how I would feel about it.”

Kerf keeps the annoyed look for another second before he sits down in the chair, leaning back enough that Ralph can jump up easily. “You don’t have to come; you don’t need me to tell you that. But you’re not happy, Tys, and I don’t think leaving Toronto will make that any better.

“I know you talked to Gabe but that you didn’t come up with anything solid. I also heard you talking to Mitch, and I saw you looking up their schedule and, knock on wood, when the final games will be played. But you’re still sitting here on the couch, doing nothing but wait around until you go back home.”

“So?” Tyson says with a clenched jaw, arms crossed across his chest, “We can’t all have life figured out by 25, boyfriends on lock and a place to play for at least another couple of –“

Kerf scoffs, loud and annoyed and utterly nasal because of his cold, “Because I worked for it. I didn’t just sit on my hands and wait for the world to come by with leftovers, I had a real conversation with the guys I loved. I listened to my agent and Dubas, and while it’s certainly not where I wanted to be, I will be fine in Toronto, because in the end, hockey is not all that matters.

“It’s a big part of our lives, I get hat. But not everywhere is like Colorado, and you don’t have to replace all of them, because they’re still here, Tyson.” Kerf says patiently. “I’ll still be here, so forget about all the spots you’ve already filled, and focus on finding some teammates that you like playing with – it doesn’t have to be any more than that.”

Tyson exhales deeply and lets his head fall back with a thump. When they were traded back in July, he hadn’t thought they would ever get here, with Kerf living in his spare room and spending most of his free time yelling at him to do better. “It’s not that easy, you know.”

“So do one thing at the time.” Kerf replies easily, knocking their feet together. “Come to Colorado with me, watch a hockey game and then figure out things between you and Gabe.”

Tyson nods once, firm and precise. “Alright, let’s go see a hockey game.”

. . .

It’s weird being back in the Pepsi Center and not having to go into either of the dressing rooms to prepare for the game.

Tyson had thought about wearing one of the standard jerseys he had been handed during PR shoots whenever they didn’t know what guys they were going to get – nameless and with stick-on letters for quick customisation. Because hardly anything’s changed over the past ten months, least of all the jerseys – hell, Tyson’s old Avs jersey would have fit in well with this crowd. Instead, he buys a hat from one of the pop-up stands that are managed externally, just in case anyone would find him being here weird.

He’s not here to discuss his pending free agency, isn’t here to make a declarations to Sakic about coming back at whatever price they could afford him at. He would love to come home next season and play on the second line behind the literal children who are making up this team’s first pair these days, but.

They’ve already traded him once. And while Tyson might be resilient and ready to roll with whatever punches life decides to throw at him, he just wants to be able to play on a team without having to worry about where he’s going to wake up next.

Kerf finds him just before puck drop, hair looking rumbled and a fresh blot of colour in his cheeks, but he’s carrying beer and snacks that he hands over readily, so Tyson decides to forego the chirps.

Their seats aren’t bad but they’re not anywhere near the glass or where the players sit, which makes Tyson believe it really was spontaneity on Kerf’s part, and that not even the combined one brain cell of his boyfriends could manage to get decent tickets on such a short notice.

The ice is just far enough away that Tyson can’t quite see it without getting a headache. And with Kerf insisting his packing had been thorough but somehow at the same time forgetting his contacts, Tyson has to pull out his glasses with a huff.

Kerf just hums and inhales a handful of popcorn, “We were invited to sit in the box with the families, you know. No need to sully yourself with the commoners, if you feel that strongly.”

“It’s not like getting higher up would help any,” Tyson retorts with a glare. He refrains from rubbing his nose where the frame is already digging into his skin and instead takes a long sip of his beer, “Company is the least of my problems.”

In the end, the game isn’t even a nail biter.

The Avs already have three wins under their belt and when Nate gets his third goal of the night, the Pepsi Center is off their feet with five minutes to go.

Maybe it’s the months spent with the Leafs and losing leads at the drop of a hat that makes him nervous, clutching Kerf’s hand when he tries to rise as well and pulling him back down, “Don’t fucking jinx them.” He hisses when Kerf plucks the hat from Tyson’s head and throws it towards the ice. “It’s only four goals they have to make up for, that’s entirely possible in –“

“Would you please shut up and let me enjoys my boys moving on to the cup final?” He asks rudely as he rolls his eyes and wretches himself out of Tyson’s grip to get to his feet. Despite their distance to the ice, he somehow still manages to make eye contact with JT who waves back, throwing his head back in joy as he circles back to the face-off dot.

The rest of the game shouldn’t be called hockey as much as an elaborate game of keep-away with an added element of ‘pass Nate the puck’ whenever he steps on the ice.

The feelings come in waves when he buzzer finally sounds, the deep elation that they did it, that they won and now have a real shot at the cup. But as he moves to his feet to hug Kerf, the feeling sours. Was it because of him they didn’t make it this far last year? Had he been holding them back? Why couldn’t they have done it with him and secured him at least another year at home? Why weren’t they enough –

“Stop thinking like that.” Kerf says in a soft voice and squeezes his hand on Tyson’s arm. “This isn’t about you or me, it’s not the same team as last year. They’ve gone through lots of change over the season, there’s no way to say what gave them that edge.” He adds a bit sharper, his voice firm a he slowly lets him go and starts to gather up their trash.

It’s a lost cause rally, people are not moving from the stands and Tyson thinks it’s going to be a while before people will want to leave the guys still celebrating on the ice, skating around the Campbell bowl until Nate finally nudges Gabe into touching it so they can line up for the picture.

“Please tell me you’re not too petty to let them have this.” Kerf continues in response to Tyson’s silence. It’s just about a month since they had this exact conversation last, and Tyson can almost feel the disappointment coming off him in waves. “I really thought you were –“

“No, of course not.” Tyson says in a hurry, laughing softy. Neither of them mentions if it’s a bit too wet. “A little sad maybe, nostalgic you know. But I am proud of them, and if someone has to win, it better be them.” With or without him, he decides with a grimace.

Kerf watches him with sharp eyes for a moment, hands on his hips with the dripping glasses hanging from his fingers and looking incredibly like a mom who’s deciding if her kid is worth trusting. “Fine, whatever. But it’s their night, so no Tyson feelings tonight, okay?”

Tyson frowns but moves along when Kerf somehow manages to make his way through the crowds, “You can’t just stop me from having feelings, man. I am a human being, that’s kinda what we do.”

“Oh no. You can have regular people feelings, that’s fine.” Kerf says over his shoulder, stopping to throw out the trash before he finds one of the staff members that somehow still remembers him to let them back to the locker room. “But any big, dramatic revelations or confession you just cannot hold back, needs to be held back until at least tomorrow.”

“You know, offensive might not be the right word. But you’re definitely being mean right now.”

Kerf shrugs, “I can live with that.”

They reach the locker room just as the champagne is being popped.

Kerf doesn’t slow down as he hurries into the room to join them, opening the door to cheers of his name and laughter that sounds so familiar it almost makes Tyson’s teeth ache.

He doesn’t realise he’d been hanging around outside for longer than a minute, just mulling over how he’s going to approach everything when he’s been such a shitty friend to all of them over the past month – the entire year, if he’s being honest – when Gabe sticks his head out of the door.

He looks around for just a second before he finds Tyson, watching him quietly before he steps away from the door and lets it fall shut behind him. He’s wearing a pair of dark compression shorts and a ‘Western Conference Champions’ t-shirt, his hair still wet and dripping spots onto the grey fabric making it cling to his chest.

“Hey Four. Kerf said you were out here, but you didn’t come in with him?” Gabe says softly and moves forward until he’s at the wall opposite Tyson, leaning back against it until there’s only a few metres between the two of them.

There’s a lot of things Tyson wants to say, but everything is too sappy for this moment – nothing quite right for what Gabe should be hearing right after he’s made it to the cup final. So instead he laughs, because at least that he knows how to do.

“Congrats on making it to the finals, Gabe.” He says with a smile and nudges Gabe’s foot with his. It doesn’t work quite as well when one of them is in sliders, but Gabe flashes a brief smile and responds with his own tap. “And almost on the 20th anniversary, Sakic must be thrilled.”

“Yeah,” Gabe says with a drawl, withdrawing his foot and pushing away from the wall. He doesn’t look happy, not like he had just before when his eyes had caught Tyson’s, but he also doesn’t look as mad as Tyson might have feared. Instead, it’s a good mixture of confusion and what seems to be resignation. “Fuck the cup is what I always say, as long as the GM is content, eh?”

Tyson deflates immediately. He follows him quickly when Gabe makes a move for the door, grabbing his wrist in his hand and pulling him back. “Shit man, that wasn’t what I meant.”

Gabe won’t look at him, but Tyson can see the wry smile on his lips as he shakes his head. And Tyson gets that he hasn’t been great this past couple of weeks, but that just fucking hurts. “Sure about that, Tys? Because it sure sounds like something you would say.”

Tyson lets out a frustrated exhale and tugs on his wrist, “Please look at me Gabe. I know I’ve been a shitty friend, a shitty – whatever we’re going to call this. But I know that, okay? I get that what I did wasn’t right, wasn’t fair to you and that I should have been more supportive about your cup run –“

Gabe laughs, a sharp horrible thing, but he doesn’t remove himself from Tyson, doesn’t move to put more space between them even though Tyson can literally feel the heat coming off him in waves.

“I didn’t need you to be supportive about the playoffs, Tys.” Gabe says quietly. His breathing is careful, deep breaths that make his chest look impossibly big before his shoulders fall with the exhale. “You could have told me you were having a hard time about the team and I would’ve been fine with that

“But instead of just, directing the conversation to something else, you just stopped talking to us.” He continues plainly. He still doesn’t look at Tyson, but he stays still when Tyson lets go of his hands and instead wraps an arm around his waist, “I get that it’s not personal, that you ignored Nate and Erik as well, but it didn’t make me feel great, to think you didn’t see me as anything other than a former teammate.”

“Of course you’re not just a teammate to me,” Tyson whines softly. He lets his head fall forward until it’s resting between Gabe’s shoulder blades, “You’re my best friends, you were never just my teammates – even when you were an annoying kid who thought just because they gave you the C meant you could boss me around.”

There’s a moment where he thinks it won’t land, when he’s just wanting to be shaken off so Gabe can go re-join the party and whatever umbers of a relationship they had kept alive would finally burn out for good. But then Tyson feels the way Gabe tenses up underneath him, muscles bunching together before he relaxes into him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s literally what it meant.” Gabe says undeterred, but there’s a smile on his lips and Tyson can’t help but laugh.

“I know I fucked up, Gabe.” Tyson says a bit more sombre, pulling back until he can walk around so they’re facing each other when Gabe finally looks up at him. “I know there’s nothing I can do to make up for how I behaved these past weeks, but I really am sorry that I couldn’t just, act like an adult and be happy for my friends’ success.

“But I’m there now,” He adds softer, smiling encouragingly when Gabe stays silent and just watches him. “I’m _here_ now, all onboard of the Avs train, I am very happy for you guys, and I hope you win the cup. I hope _you_ win the cup, Gabe. Because I know what it means to you, and because,” Tyson takes a deep breath but doesn’t break eye contact with Gabe. He reaches for one of his hands, waits for Gabe to unfurl it so he can intertwine their fingers. “Because I love you, Landesnerd, and I hope you get everything you want.”

Gabe rolls his eyes but even he can’t help but smile, leaning in until his head is resting on Tyson’s shoulder. He wraps his free arm around him and pulls until they’re flushed together, Gabe leaning against the wall with Tyson covering his entire front. “That was the world’s shittiest apology and love confession all wrapped in one, I hope you know that.”

Tyson grumbles in token protest, but he has Gabe in his arms and right now that’s all he really wants.

“You can’t just tell me you know me and be like, ‘that’s it, that’s what I have.’” Gabe continues, but his voice is soft and the hand on his back is drawing patterns under his shirt. “Don’t think it’s going to work next time you fuck up.”

“It’s not going to be like this again, I promise.” Tyson says. He pulls back until there’s a decent distance between them, eyes warm and full of love as they smile just watching each other. “No matter what happens after this, I will always be there for you, Gabe. And if I can’t, of everything starts to feel shitty, then I promise I’ll tell you, so you know what’s going on.”

Gabe exhales slowly, and then all at once. “That’s all I want, Four.” He says softly, a hand on Tyson’s cheek as he leans in and kisses him just as soft.

It’s nothing like last time, there’s no hurry or alcohol making them skip steps. It’s just Tyson’s lips on Gabe’s, easy kisses and hands holding each other tight. There’s a confidence in the way they kiss, a carelessness that he normally associates with nights out and strange guys in the back of cars, but instead of egging him on, it just makes him lose himself in the kiss, in Gabe.

“Oh,” Gabe says as he pulls away to breathe, Tyson continuing down his throat. “I love you too.”

“_Oh_,” Tyson echoes, smiling. “That’s nice to know.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, “Oh, shut up, will you?” But he’s laughing, already pulling him back in for another kiss.

They’re not left alone forever.

It might not be more than a minute before EJ comes through the door, looking at them with sharp eyes like he just caught them doing something they weren’t supposed to. “I know everyone’s not entirely sold on you yet, but it does feel kinda weird having the party without the captain.” He says with a drawl, arms crossed across his chest as he leans on the door frame. “If you’re just gonna hook up, you can do it inside. Nothing we haven’t seen before, yeah?”

Gabe steps out of Tyson’s arm, but keeps a hand in his as he bullies his way through the door, making sure to bump shoulders with EJ on his way. “You know, next time you can just say you miss me.”

“And talk about my feelings, that doesn’t seem like a me thing.” EJ replies plainly, but he reaches for Gabe anyway, pulling him in tight for a hug that looks almost painful if Tyson hadn’t seen the way they interacted with each other. Gabe’s head resting on his shoulder as his hands rub down his back, touching him with an ease Tyson can’t help but feel a little jealous of.

“Okay, now get off me.” EJ says and shrugs him off, grinning wide as Gabe pretends to cling. “Stop it, Gabriel. Talk with your boyfriend if you’re that touch starved, I’m a busy man, I don’t have time for this shit.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, but steps back and immediately finds Tyson’s hand. “Please keep an eye on Cale, yeah? Maybe take his phone when they’re done with the pictures and all and put them in a car when the time comes.”

“Sure, we wouldn’t want any more asses on Instagram, huh.” He throws back making Gabe’s chest puff out, so Tyson decides to jump in to congratulate him on the win. It’s very obviously placatingly, but EJ seems to roll with it, smirking as he pulls him in for his own hug. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re here now, I’ll let you know when I figure out the fine on negligence.”

Tyson doesn’t even argue, “Just let me know, and I’ll bring the suitcase.”

Gabe has disappeared, so Tyson makes the rounds with the guys he knows – making vague excuses why he wasn’t here earlier, why he’s here now – and introduces himself to the ones he doesn’t, wishing them good luck in the final.

Kerf looks happy sitting in one of the stalls in the back, a beer hanging from one hand and Junior in his lap as he makes out with a flushes Compher. Junior is watching them with dark eyes as his lips move quickly, whispering dirty nothing that only seems to egg them on. He looks up and spots Tyson, grinning wide as he waves, but somehow doesn’t stop talking so Tyson waves back awkwardly.

Gabe pops up in the corner, and Tyson is just about to make his way to him when he’s stopped by a tall, lanky dude Tyson only vaguely remembers. It’s not until he starts talking and the familiar accent starts coming through that he realises who he’s talking with.

“You’re Burakovsky, right? Anders, Andres –“ “_Andre_.” “Yeah, congrats man. You must be psyched to be here again, I know the team likes having someone here that’s been through it before,” Tyson says kindly and pats his arm in what seems like a nice gesture, but Andre just keeps looking constipated.

He’s just about to transition into Willy stories, because that at least seems safe with both of them having played with Bäckström – “He’s the best, you know?” Willy had said one night, drunk off his face and crying softly, a Caps game playing in the background as Kappy ran fingers through his hair. “And we would have won gold if Bettman wasn’t such a dick.” – when Andre somehow squares his shoulders and takes a step closer until he’s towering over him.

Tyson doesn’t really know what to feel about the part shovel talk, part complimentary resume about Gabe’s best assets that Andre delivers with a pout he thinks is supposed to be threatening. But Tyson gets the gist of it all, even if Nate hadn’t already been there with the promise of EJ’s wrath if he fucks up again.

“That’s a very nice speech, Andre.” Tyson says kindly, “And I’m sure if something does happen, you will get a spot in the line to make my life miserable, but right now I’m going to go celebrate with my boyfriend. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon, have a good one!”

He’s thinking bout stealing Gabe away from a quick blowjob, when his eyes spot Sidney Crosby tucked away in the corner talking animatedly with Sakic, laughing loudly as Joe says something in return. One of his hands are resting on Nate’s side, long fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt and keeping him within reach as Nate flutters around the room to talk with everyone at once.

He’s looking very nondescript, dark jeans and a monochrome shirt that almost makes Tyson feel better about not having noticed him before. It makes him want to ask how he watches the game, if he ventured into the stands hoping a bunch of western conference fans wouldn’t recognise Sid the Kid when it’s not in his own barn, or if he sat with the other significant others and tries to discuss hockey the way you do with people who doesn’t quite get what it really feels like being there on the ice.

There’s a Conference Final hat perched crookedly on his head, and it almost makes him feel a bit sacrilegious seeing him in something that so obviously isn’t Penguins Hockey or the Team Canada red he’s made so popular.

“I didn’t know Sid was here,” Tyson finds himself saying, bumping into Gabe to get his attention. Nate hadn’t mentioned it when Tyson had gone by to congratulate him, hugging him tight as they both laughed. Because if there was anyone who deserved to win, it was Nate, dragging this team from an injury-ridden mess to the guys standing here today, four wins away from the cup. “He has a game two days from now, right?”

Gabe hums inquisitively and tries to hide the way he squints around the room to find what Tyson is looking at. Tyson rolls his eyes and nudges him in the right direction, watching together as Nate wraps himself around Sid who looks incredibly proud, almost giddy with it as he kisses the top of Nate’s head, “Yeah, they play their sixth on Wednesday according to Nate’s schedule.”

Tyson sucks in a breath. “I uh, didn’t think he would come with the games being that close to each other.”

Gabe’s still looking at the pair as he laughs softly, shaking his head when they see Nate lean in to whisper something in Sid’s ear, only to pull back with flushed cheeks. “Well, when you love someone you sometimes do things you didn’t think you would.”

Tyson doesn’t quite choke on his breath, but there’s an entire moment where he feels incredibly winded thinking about Sidney ‘Hockey is my Life’ Crosby fucking off to Denver two days before a game that could possibly decide if they’re moving on to the next round, all because he’s in love with Nate.

And then he looks at Gabe who still smiling softly at his boys so close to being Stanley Cup Champions, and suddenly Tyson can’t imagine doing else.

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a quick 5k I could write on the way home about Tyson feeling fine after the trade and everyone just overreacting. and then tyson of course came out and said how affected he was by it, so here you have it folks!


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